Crusaders
by Exocet
Summary: Brother Cadfael thought he would live in peace in Shrewsbury Abbey for the remainder of his life. But King Stephen has other plans for him, and with the help of Hugh Beringar he will have to go back to the land where he spent the best years of his life.
1. Leaving Shrewsbury

**Author's note : **Once again, I cannot thank Kezya enough for the amazing work she's done with this story. She's corrected many mistakes, inaccuracies and anachronisms I would never have noticed, but more than that, she's given me the will to write Crusaders. This story is hers as much as it is mine. Naturally, any mistake that should remain are hers entirely... ah... just kidding !

To Greenleaf's daughter : here it is, and I hope you like it !

**Title : **Crusaders

**Main characters : **Hugh Beringar, Brother Cadfael.

**Summary : **Brother Cadfael thought he could spend the remainder of his life in peace in Shrewsbury Abbey, but the King had other plans for him. With the help of Hugh Beringar, he will have to go back to the land where he spent the best years of his life. Will the protection of his little Welsh saint be enough to keep him safe and out of trouble ?

**Spoilers : **A few about Olivier, but nothing new if you have read _Bad Blood_.

**Rating : **I'm no more familiar with these than I was while writing _Bad Blood_, but again if the mention of blood, death and injuries don't deter you, it's a pretty safe read.

**Disclaimer : **Nothing's mine.

**Historical accuracy : **I tried to remain consistent with what I read of the mid-twelfth century. Same with geography and the time it takes to travel from one point to another, but there's a lot of guesswork in this, too. Overall, it should be mostly accurate, but no guaranty.

**Feedback : **Yes please !

**Nota : **I had a little trouble to upload this chapter, so there might be a format problem. It seems fine but if some sentences are written twice or anything of the kind, that's because of this.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Brother Cadfael had seen that man only once before in his life; but the aftermath had been such that seeing him dismount in the courtyard of the abbey was enough to stir up a surge of dread in the monk's chest. The one and only time that King Stephen had entrusted him with a mission, it had been a real nightmare. Not only had Hugh been stabbed and wrongly accused of murder, but to top it all they had been made prisoners by a rogue Welsh prince, and survived the whole ordeal only by some miracle - not to mention it had caused Cadfael to doubt his choice of vocation. So, no more missions, thank you very much.

Yet, he thought grimly, Lord Richard Willoughby had certainly not come just by chance. Did he have sealed orders in his saddlebags, proclaiming the necessity for Cadfael to leave his beloved abbey once again? Or was it just paranoia on the monk's part? The only way to find out was to wait until Willoughby unveiled the reason for his coming, and although Cadfael had always been a little short of patience, he forced himself to watch the visitor walk past him without asking any questions. Brother Prior, a haughty and stiff look plastered on his face as usual, offered to bring Willoughby to the Abbot - that and listen to the conversation that would follow, no doubt. Prior Robert made it a point to know everything and anything going on in the abbey, helped in that regard by Brother Jerome.

However, when, hardly ten minutes later, Cadfael was informed by Prior Robert that the Abbot wished to speak to him, his worst fear seemed to come true. Heaving a sigh that earned him a glare from Brother Prior, Cadfael complied and hurried to the Abbot's study, stopping in front of the door to knock softly. A muffled voice told him to enter, and he pushed the door open to see Radulfus and Willoughby, both seated in chairs and looking expectantly at him.

"Father, Brother Prior told me you asked for me," Cadfael said, as humbly as he could manage.

"Indeed," the Abbot nodded, his dark eyes gleaming under his bushy eyebrows. "But if you have an analytical mind such as Lord Willoughby seems to think, you probably already know why, don't you?"

Cadfael cast his superior a pained look, with the distinct feeling that this last comment was deeply unfair. The Abbot was not making it easy for him - after all, it was not the monk's fault if the King thought fit to give him yet another mission to fulfill. He would go without such honours, if he could.

"Don't be so harsh on him, Father!" Willoughby protested good-naturedly. "The King highly values his expertise."

Radulfus pursed his lips. "Yes, so I noticed. Well, perhaps you should explain the matter to Brother Cadfael."

But Lord Richard shook his head. "With your permission, Father, I would rather wait for Lord Beringar to join us, so I do not need to say it twice."

Cadfael could not help but raise an eyebrow. So Hugh would not be spared either, it seemed. Conflicting thoughts crossed his mind; he was partly sorry for his friend, and partly satisfied that he should not be the only one to suffer through another whim of the King's. In any case, it would be less of a bother if Beringar was with him to carry out the mission - whatever it was. Actually, in spite of his annoyance at being sent away yet once again - for he figured that was what it was all about - Cadfael's curiousity was still getting the better of him, and he could not help but ogle the scroll that lay on the Abbot's desk.

"Your wine is excellent, Father" Willoughby commented in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere.

Radulfus' lips thinned some more. "Thank you," he replied dryly.

Trying not to sigh once again, Cadfael was relieved when there was another knock at the door and the Abbot shifted his attention to the newcomers.

"Enter!"

A young novice opened the door, letting Hugh Beringar through before closing it discreetly Cadfael idly wondered whether the lad would take the risk to eavesdrop or not.

"Father Abbot," Hugh said politely, sparing a quick glance at his friend. Cadfael gave a small shrug in answer.

"My lord," Radulfus replied amiably. "Thank you for joining us at such short notice."

"My pleasure. As you know, there has not been any ghastly murder cases to solve of late, so I am not too busy."

"I am glad to hear that," Willoughby commented, and Beringar cast him a sidelong glance. "For I am here as a messenger for the King."

Hugh hardly narrowed his eyes. Just like Cadfael, he had been expecting that the moment he saw Lord Richard, and he had not forgotten what had happened the last time either. Obviously disappointed at the lack of notable reaction, Willoughby went on with a small frown.

"The outcome of your last mission was somewhat... unexpected, but the King was pleased with the result, and he is in need of your expertise. Well, mostly Brother Cadfael's, which is why I have stopped at the abbey first. I will not hide that this new mission is crucial and might change the tide of the war."

For a change, Cadfael thought irreverently, although he was wise enough to keep his lips sealed. He wondered what kind of expertise he possessed that Stephen needed so badly - he was just a humble Brother, after all. And he was getting tired of all these preliminaries. Hugh's patience seemed to run as short as the monk's, for he scowled at Lord Richard.

"My lord, I am not too busy but I don't have all day either. Would you please get to the point?"

Fortunately, the King's envoy looked amused rather than disgruntled at this sign of impatience, and Radulfus must have been getting fidgety as well, for he said nothing.

"Yes, yes, I'm getting to that. Tell me, have you heard of a man known as Antony of Thornbury?"

Hugh raised an eyebrow. "No, I can't say I have."

Cadfael shook his head when Willoughby looked at him expectantly.

"Well, I'm not surprised. He left England over ten years ago for the Holy Land, and never came back, leaving his estate in the care of his steward. That was not a problem - until now. You see, he has - or had - a lot of influence. Most people remember him as a man fair, pious and courageous. But more importantly, his lands have become strategically very interesting for both Stephen and Maud. Whoever will manage to rally Lord Thornbury to their cause will have gained a precious ally."

By now, the Abbot was looking through the window with the polite but uninterested look of someone who has already heard the story once, and Hugh had crossed his hands behind his back to stop himself from fidgeting in a most un-lordly manner. As for Cadfael, he was beginning to see where Willoughby was headed, and he did not like it one bit.

"The problem is, of course, that the steward has no authority to make a choice as long as his master is away and did not give him precise instructions; Lord Thornbury never married and left no heir. In two words, we need someone to find Lord Thornbury, and bring him back to England, preferably to rally the King's side. But the Holy Land is vast. We need someone who knows the place, the people and the language. That's you, Brother Cadfael. Of course, the King would not send you on your own, which is why he orders Lord Beringar to join you, especially since the two of you always seem to get results."

The monk wondered whether he should be flattered to be trusted with such an important mission or disgruntled that the King thought him unable to take care of himself - he was only in his late fifties, after all. But in the end, he realized that he was just annoyed at the idea of having to leave yet another time. But what excuse could he claim? He searched, and found none.

"Lord Willoughby..." he began, then searched for his words. "I would be glad to be of help to the King, but the Holy Land is very far and..."

Lord Richard shook his head. "I am afraid you do not have a choice in this, Brother. This time the stakes are too high. We are almost certain that Maud will send someone as well, and we could not afford to have Lord Thornbury choose her side."

This time, Cadfael did not bother to hold back a dispirited sigh, and he could tell from Hugh's dirty glances towards Willoughby that his friend felt the same way. Being loyal to Stephen in England was not a problem for Beringar - after all, it had been his choice. But being loyal to Stephen half a world away from his wife and son, that was another matter entirely. Willoughby's features softened slightly as he considered them and their lack of enthusiasm.

"I know it is a long and dangerous journey, but it is vital for England."

"For England, or for Stephen?" Cadfael asked caustically, then clamped his mouth shut. It had come out without a conscious thought on his part, and a bit too sincerely.

Lord Richard stared at him, a little disgruntled but comprehensive. "I did not hear that," he said.

"I will forget I have, then,", Hugh murmured. Cadfael suspected his friend had thought inwardly what the monk had said out loud, which might be the reason for his leniency.

"In any case, as I said it is a long journey, so you'd better leave as soon as possible. Tomorrow, for instance."

Tomorrow... it seemed so surreal. Less than one hour ago, Cadfael's main worry had been the state of his kitchen garden, and now... the monk closed his eyes, old, sweet and bitter memories of the long years he had spent in Antioch passing through his mind. He was afraid, but not of the dangers that lay ahead. He was frightened of himself, of the exhilaration he felt at the idea to go back. He had thought he had said farewell to the sceneries of his tumultuous youth, but if he went back, he feared he would not want to leave again, ensnared in the ancient appeal of the Holy Land.

Radulfus' voice dragged him back to reality. "I don't really have a say in the matter, I see."

"Well, you could object," Willoughby conceded. "But the King has the means to make that a papal order. And that would not be a good thing, neither for you nor for him. Mostly a waste of time and a sure way to incur Stephen's wrath."

Although the Abbot controlled himself very well, Cadfael could say he wasn't happy, and for the first time the thought occurred to the monk that Radulfus' anger might be directed, not at him but at the King for sending him away once again. Was the Abbot being... protective? But without a doubt, it was regret flickering in his dark eyes when he looked at Cadfael, almost apologetically.

"Then there is nothing I can do," Radulfus said softly. "I am sorry, Brother Cadfael, but you must go."

Cadfael nodded dumbly, still not fully realizing what was going on. He knew he would need time to come to terms with it.

"And so must I, obviously," Hugh muttered unhappily. "Tomorrow, then."

Well, there was at least one person who was even more miserable than Cadfael himself. He left his home behind, but no family. Not exactly... No, he told himself firmly. He had given up any fatherly right he might have had when he had taken the decision to hide the truth from his son; yet even now, he knew he had made the right decision. Olivier did not need him any more, so why burden him with the knowledge?

That did not make the secret easier to live with.

"A ship, the Relentless, is waiting for you at Portsmouth," Willoughby said, then he handed a stack of papers to Beringar. "Here are all the papers you might need, and the backing of the Royal authority should you need it."

Cadfael refrained from snorting. Royal authority would be of little help in the Holy Land, but this time he knew better than to comment on it. Lord Richard's memory might not be so... conveniently deficient the next time it happened.

"Thank you," Hugh said, although he seemed to have as many illusions as Cadfael about the real usefulness of such papers. He still took them without further comments. "I will have many things to take care of, so if you will excuse me..." Beringar gave a curt nod before heading to the door.

Willoughby thoughtfully watched the door close on the deputy sheriff. "I think he does not like me," he observed.

"He does not dislike you as much as the orders you always seem to carry," Cadfael said, then wondered if he had gone too far this time.

"Well, I am just the messenger," Lord Richard pointed out. "It's not my fault."

"Who spoke of logic when it comes down to human feelings?" Radulfus commented rhetorically, and Cadfael had a feeling he was not speaking only of Beringar. "Brother Cadfael, you probably have many things to take care of as well. You are discharged from your other duties for the rest of the day."

It was clearly a dismissal, so Cadfael nodded obediently and left, though not quickly enough not to hear the Abbot's last sentence. "Lord Willoughby, a novice will show you to the best inn of Shrewsbury, and..."

Willoughby was obviously not invited to stay at the abbey tonight... So even Radulfus could be mean and childish, every once in a while.

* * *

"Leaving, Brother?" Oswin sounded utterly horrified at the idea, and he looked entreatingly at Cadfael, who gave him a half-hearted smile. 

"Only for some time," the monk said reassuringly, but that did not seem to really appease his apprentice.

"But... to the Holy Land?"

Cadfael allowed himself a soft smile. Of course, for a young brother who had never travelled away from Shrewsbury, the Holy Land must seem the end of the world. And in a way, it was. "I have already been there, in former days," he reminded Oswin. "And I have come back."

"But you were..." his apprentice began, before closing his mouth quickly. He had probably been about to say that Cadfael was not so young anymore, but a frown silenced him.

"Oswin, I have no say in this matter, and neither do you. It is the will of the King, we have no choice but to obey. I will probably be back by the end of the year."

The younger monk nodded reluctantly and began to silently help Cadfael gather various things he might need, mostly medicines and a few other things. After a while though, he stopped and hesitated, as if trying to find the courage to say what he wanted to. Cadfael sighed and sat down on the wooden, slightly wobbly bench, before looking expectantly at his apprentice.

"Well, what is it? You know I don't bite."

Oswin nervously bit his lower lip. "Brother, you... I... I mean... it might not be safe for you to travel alone... perhaps I should... you know... come with you?"

Cadfael looked fondly at the young man. It must have required a lot of courage to make such an offer, for he knew that his apprentice was terrified at the idea of leaving the shelter of the abbey for an unknown and faraway place. Oswin might be clumsy and blundering, but he was fiercely loyal and had a heart of gold.

"Of course I wouldn't go alone," he said, and he saw with amusement and affection the slight shiver the young man was unable to refrain. "Hugh Beringar is coming with me. Oswin, I appreciate your offer, but you are needed here. Who would care for the sick if we both left at the same time?"

Oswin half-opened his mouth, then closed it again. He had obviously not thought of that, not to mention that the Abbot would hardly have granted his permission anyway. But there was no need to tell the young monk that - he had been so sincere in his offer that Cadfael wanted him to know how much it truly was appreciated.

"I... I understand, Brother," Oswin said reluctantly. "Of course, I suppose it would be selfish of me to leave when people might need me here."

He looked a bit guilty, and Cadfael knew exactly how he felt; he was relieved he did not have to go, but ashamed because he thought that feeling belittled his sincere offer.

"Oswin," he said comfortingly, while placing a hand on the young man's shoulder. "You are going to do much more good than I by staying here. I would trust no other than you with the life of my patients."

The lad appeared heartened by the thought, and he even cracked a smile at his mentor. "I will do my best, you can count on me, Brother."

"Oh, I do," Cadfael assured him. "Now, I have a few more things to do that can't wait, and I would be grateful if you would go and visit our patients while I take care of it."

"Of course."

Oswin left obediently, although Cadfael had to remind him to take his bag full of medicines with him. When he was alone, the monk seized a quill and a piece of parchment. He dipped the tip of the quill in the dark ink, and began to write, carefully forming the letters to make them as legible as possible. Just in case...

* * *

"Faaaather !" Little Giles, somewhat wobbly on his small legs, tugged at Hugh's bliaud, his hands clenched on the fabric. 

Beringar's angular features softened as he bent and picked his son up to hold him in his arms. The little boy had inherited Aline's blond hair, but he also had Hugh's dark eyes. It was hard to say what he would look like later, but his father had no doubt he would grow up to become a fine man. He just hoped he could be home more often...

"It's time for him to go to bed," Aline said firmly, and ruefully Hugh allowed Constance to take his son to his bedroom. Then he went to sit in one of the armchairs near the hearth, where a fire crackled happily, orange flames rising high and spreading a comfortable warmth.

Aline joined him a moment later, with a pitcher of wine and two goblets. Her face was still dark, and although she tried not to show it, Hugh knew she was upset. It had not been easy to explain to her he had to leave once again, and for months this time, on another mission. Yet, she understood. She had chosen Stephen's side just as he had, of her own free will, and she understood the meaning of words such as 'duty' perhaps even better than her husband. However, that did not make the parting easier to deal with.

"It will be just for a few months," Hugh murmured. "I'll be back before Giles turns three."

"I hope so," she sighed, and without even thinking about it he rose from his armchair to take her in his arms. It was their last night together for a very long time.

Aline embraced her husband as though she would never let him go, and they stayed thus for a long time, in front of the hearth, entwined together.

* * *

The next morning, a little too cold and grey to be really pleasant, found Cadfael up and ready to go, a reasonably small bundle in his hands. The monk had a good deal of experience when it came down to travelling, and he knew better than to burden himself with anything more than the bare minimum. Yet, even the bare necessities took some space, and herbs, balms and potions made up the bulk of his luggage, along with a few spare pieces of clothing. 

After Lauds, Cadfael headed to the gates of the abbey, where Hugh would probably meet him soon, but someone held him back.

"Brother?"

The monk turned back and was surprised to see it was the Abbot who had stopped him. He bowed his head deferentially.

"Yes, Father?"

"You would not leave without my blessing, would you?"

"That's an honour!" Cadfael murmured gratefully. He had not expected that much support from Radulfus, seeing how angry and disgruntled he was the day before - which showed that he had misjudged the Abbot.

"In nomine Patris et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti..." Radulfus blessed the monk more warmly than he had to, and when he was done and Cadfael raised his head, he saw once again this strange gleam he had already noticed in the Abbot's eyes the previous day. Fatherly love? It felt strange, from a man who was younger than Cadfael himself, but somehow it fitted their relationship.

"Thank you, Father," he said humbly.

"I have something else for you - and I hope it will protect you more efficiently than a mere blessing," Radulfus replied evenly, as he drew a small object from his robes and handed it to the monk.

With a slight frown of curiosity, Cadfael took it. It was a small wooden cross, with traces of blue paint and inlaid with a foil of gold. The upper side of the cross had been pierced and a leather cord passed through to make it a pendant.

"This cross was carved from a splinter of wood, taken from St. Winifred's reliquary. I know you have a close bond with our Saint, and I trust she will watch over you," Radulfus confided in a low voice.

Rendered speechless, Cadfael glanced at the small cross with renewed respect. He had never hoped for such a mark of esteem, and he was both thankful and astounded that the Abbot would care enough to do that. It was no small thing.

"You should go, now. Godspeed, Brother," Radulfus concluded, and he walked away before Cadfael had had time to say a word of thanks.

The Abbot obviously disliked lasting farewells as much as Cadfael himself, and respecting his wish the monk hurried to the gates of the abbey. He felt much more confident now, with the protection of his little Welsh saint, and he passed the leather cord around his neck so the small cross would rest against his skin, protected by his thick robes.

As expected, Hugh was already waiting outside, mounted on his grey horse and holding the reins of Cadfael's chestnut mare. Well, it was not his mare, so to speak, but it was the one he always used when he had to ride with Beringar, and he had grown accustomed to her.

"All settled?" Hugh asked the monk with a half-hearted smile - he was as unhappy as Cadfael to leave Shrewsbury.

"As much as I will ever be, I suppose," the monk sighed.

"Then let's go, before I decide to join the Empress' cause."

Cadfael smiled as he laid his bundle in the saddlebags of his mare. "Bad idea. I think she would still hang you, if she got a chance. After all, it was partly your fault that Owain more or less joined Stephen's side."

Hugh grimaced at the thought. "You're right, I've heard she is quite unforgiving. The Holy Land it is, then. Since the journey will be rather long, how about you tell me a few anecdotes about your time there?"

"Anecdotes?" the monk repeated thoughtfully. "Well, there was this time when we were going after a group of Saracens, and they took refuge in a mosque. So we followed their lead, but one of them stood up to us and said, 'you must remove your boots when you enter a holy place'..."


	2. The Holy Land

**Chapter 2**

The deck was moving under Cadfael's feet, but he was so used to it that he compensated without even paying attention. Even though he had not sailed for over two decades, it had not taken him long to remember what it was like. Much like horse-riding, actually; it was just a matter of moving along with the ship, rather than fighting against it. Of course, it was not that simple for everybody...

"For a monk, you would have made a good sailor."

Recognizing the voice of the first mate, Cadfael turned to face him with a soft smile, aware that it was a great compliment he had just been paid. For a seaman, that is. But the Relentless had left Portsmouth several weeks ago, and the monk had quickly become friends with Matthew Beresford, the first officer.

"I was one, long ago," he confessed with a chuckle.

Matthew grinned. "Once a sailor, always a sailor."

The monk raised an eyebrow. "I thought they said that about pirates?" And he should know, he had hunted more than his fair share of pirates in his younger days.

The first mate shrugged. "It works both ways."

There was a silence, and Cadfael glanced at the sky. Dark clouds hovered ominously above the ship, from time to time hiding the silvery light of the moon. A soft, warm and salty breeze inflated the sails. The sea would be a little turbulent, tonight, although the monk doubted there was anything more to fear than some heavy weather - nothing that would be a problem for such a fine ship as the Relentless.

"I didn't see your friend tonight," Beresford commented casually.

Cadfael could not help but snigger, although he knew it was most uncharitable on his part. "I think he is in his quarters."

"I... see," the first mate said, and the smirk on his face showed that he saw indeed. "Well, excuse me, but I must tend to my duties. Have a good evening."

"You too," the monk nodded.

Matthew headed to the upper deck, probably to check on the ship's course, while Cadfael remained where he was for a little longer. However, after a few minutes he decided it was getting a bit chilly, and headed back inside the room he shared with Hugh. Space was scarce onboard a ship, which explained why they had not been granted individual quarters in spite of their status as the King's envoys. Actually, Cadfael considered himself quite happy to share the room with only one person and he had not complained, even though he was certain the captain of the Relentless had expected him to. But sharing a dormitory for years with all the other brethren, many of whom snored, was a humbling experience in that regard.

"Hello!" the monk said cheerfully as he entered, not bothering to knock. The only answer he got was a muffled groan. "How do you feel, tonight?"

"Same as yesterday," Hugh muttered from his bed.

"I brought you dinner," Cadfael continued, not in the least fazed by his friend's ungracious answer.

Beringar let out a moan. "Please don't mention food. The mere idea is disgusting."

And his complexion did indeed seem a little greener than before. Cadfael tried to hide a smile, without much success, but fortunately the light, or lack thereof, hid his features enough that Hugh did not notice it. The monk sat on his friend's bed, pushing away his sword. Why Beringar kept wearing a sword onboard a ship was beyond Cadfael - a matter of habit, most likely.

"Come on! You need to eat," he insisted. "Here, I brought an apple. You should manage that at least."

He got a dubious stare from Hugh, but his friend relented and took the fruit with a look of slight disgust etched on his face. Cadfael cast him a thoughtful glance.

"It's interesting," he mused.

Beringar peeked at him from behind his apple. "What is?" His tone showed only a limited amount of interest in whatever it was the monk found so fascinating, but speaking did distract him from his misery.

"That you have been seasick for weeks now. You should have gotten over it by now - that's the first time I witness that," Cadfael replied with a mischievous gleam in his blue eyes.

Hugh scowled at him. "Well, not everybody can be a monk, and a healer, and an accomplished seaman."

"Is this the first time you are onboard a ship?" the monk asked, now curious.

"No," Beringar said with a grimace. "Last time was when I was sixteen. My father sent me to France for two years, so I had to cross the channel. Twice." He shuddered at the memory and began to nibble at the fruit he was holding in his hand. "Although I must say it was worth it."

Cadfael nodded and stretched his arms with a groan. Being cooped up for weeks was beginning to make him feel restless - as it would have made Hugh, no doubt, had he not been so sick for the whole journey.

"Well, if that's any consolation, we should probably reach Tunis tomorrow - or so the captain said at dinner, in any case."

"Tunis? What is it?"

"An important seaport," Cadfael explained. "Most if not all ships that go into the Mediterranean stop there to resupply. It's in Saracen territory, but that won't be a problem. There still is relative peace between Christians and Saracens, although skirmishes occur regularly. But there has not been a real battle since the beginning of the century, although more tensions have been rising lately."

Hugh cast him a sidelong glance. "And may I be so bold as to ask where all this intelligence comes from?"

Cadfael gave him a mock frown. "I have lived there for over a decade, you know. I did learn a few things." But his friend stared at him, and the monk relented. "That, and the captain might have mentioned a few things from his last venture to the Holy Land."

"I see," Beringar chuckled. "Well, I look forward to stretching my limbs. And more importantly, to getting off this ship."

"So do I," Cadfael concurred. He yawned, and looked sheepishly at his friend. "I think it's time for bed, now."

Hugh nodded and closed his eyes, obviously fighting nausea. With a discreet but unsympathetic smile, Cadfael left him to his misery and headed to his own bed, where he lay down with a groan of satisfaction. He had been up all day, and although he did enjoy strolling around the deck and feeling sea spray on his face, he would not have any trouble falling asleep.

As anticipated, the sea was a little stormy that night, but Cadfael slept soundly. He was only awoken in the middle of the night by his friend going out - his stomach obviously did not appreciate the rough moves of the ship. Cadfael sniggered sleepily and fell back into a deep slumber. The second time he woke up, it was morning, and he felt perfectly rested. He forced himself to chant Prime, knowing that he had missed Lauds and Matins. He really should watch himself; after only a few weeks he already had trouble keeping with the offices. Somehow, he felt younger and younger as the Relentless sailed closer to its destination, as though the wise, old monk gave way to the young soldier who had embarked on a ship to see new horizons in the Holy Land. This change disturbed Cadfael, and he controlled himself sternly. Despite what he might feel like, he was still in his late fifties and not so young anymore.

To his surprise, the monk found Hugh outside, at the bow of the ship. Beringar was inhaling deeply the salty breeze of the ocean, and he actually looked a little better than the night before. Cadfael rested his elbows on the rail, near him. His friend was looking intently at the skyline, and the monk tried to make out what it was that Hugh found so fascinating. Seeing nothing, he glanced at his friend. Beringar saw his questioning gaze, and smiled.

"The captain told me we are to reach Tunis in the early afternoon, and I'm so much longing for solid ground that I tried to see it."

"I see," Cadfael nodded in understanding. "But, you know, the watchman in the crow's nest will report as soon as land is in sight."

"I know, I know. But I'm bored."

The monk smiled at this confession. "If that's any consolation, I'm bored too."

"How unchristian of you, Brother! I do not take pleasure in the misery of others. Contrary to a certain monk of my acquaintance." There was definitely a teasing gleam in Hugh's dark eyes, and Cadfael took the jibe as it was intended.

"I do not take pleasure in the misery of others!" He protested indignantly.

"Oh oh... Would you happen to feel touched by my innocent remark?"

Cadfael snorted but wisely chose not to answer that. Instead, he leant back against the railing and looked at the sailors tending to their duties. Some were washing the deck, others were climbing the rigging. They were deploying an additional sail to take advantage of the wind that was blowing favourably.

The first mate was supervising the crew, but when he saw the two passengers at the bow of the ship, he climbed on the upper deck to rejoin them, his tanned features brightening with a smile as he bade them a good morning.

"Do you feel any better?" he added for Hugh in particular.

Beringar looked vaguely annoyed - Beresford had been asking the same question each time they had seen each other - but he replied politely nonetheless. "For now, yes. Thank you."

"How long are we going to stay at Tunis?" Cadfael asked.

"Ah, that's right, you're in a hurry, aren't you?" Matthew commented. "We'll probably stay no more than a day. Just the time needed to resupply, if everything goes fine."

"If everything goes fine?" Hugh repeated, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

Beresford shrugged. "There have been a few skirmishes in the area, I heard. Nothing major, but sometimes supplies are scarce because of it. I don't think it will be a problem this time, though."

At this moment, the watchman shouted, "Land in sight!" And indeed, a thin, dark shape could be seen in the far distance. At once, the first mate took his leave to resume his duties, and a few hours later the Relentless entered the seaport of Tunis. It was an impressive sight, with boats and ships of all sizes and shapes, either Christian or Saracen. Tunis was one of the rare places where both cultures seemed to really mingle, united by a common need in spite of the covert hostility that still reigned. Everyone went about their business, without paying attention to the others, and it had worked for decades, although Cadfael wondered how much longer it would last.

The captain steered the Relentless to a side of the port where there were mostly Christian ships, and the vessel was berthed with consummate ease. While the captain and his officers took care of the more pragmatic details, Cadfael glanced at Hugh.

"So, what do you say we go for a walk?"

"I was going to suggest it," Beringar replied.

"Just one thing," the monk warned. "If you've got gold, don't take it all. You'd better leave it in our room, if you don't want it stolen."

Hugh sniggered. "I was not going to take it. Shall we go, now?"

They disembarked, a first a bit disoriented when the ground remained steady under their feet instead of moving, and found themselves on a long, stony pier, crowded with workers and sailors. Many of them were Saracens, and spoke a language that had once been as familiar as English to Cadfael. He realized mournfully that he did not understand anything they said, although he knew it would probably come back to him after a fashion. But for the moment, he hardly remembered a few words.

The Saracens wore djellabas and turbans, most of them brightly coloured. There were few womens, and some of them hid their faces. It was a Saracen custom, if Cadfael remembered correctly, another custom he had forgotten and now remembered. However, only respectable Saracen women, from wealthy families, did so. Women of humbler breeding did not bother covering their faces, although some of them averted their gazes shyly.

"So, where do we go?" Hugh asked, with more spirit than he had shown ever since they had left Portsmouth. He looked all around him with obvious curiosity.

"Uuuh..." Cadfael hesitated. He had not been very often to Tunis, even in the old days, and it had been over twenty years. He felt almost as much of a stranger as his friend. "If we take the main street, we should arrive near the street market. You might see a few interesting things, although if you want to buy something, for God's sake don't show it and bargain. Everything is twice its real price, and I suspect it's even higher when they sell to Christians."

Beringar narrowed his eyes in amusement. "Yes, I suppose it makes sense." He gave a pull at his bliaud and sighed. "I hadn't realized the Holy Land was so warm - and that's an understatement."

Cadfael grinned, although he found the sultriness hard to bear as well. "You'll get used to it. Come on, the high street should be that way."

They began to walk along the pier, slowly. Being on the seafront was at the same time a gain and a an annoyance, for a soft, lukewarm breeze refreshed the two friends, but it also made the air much moistier and sweltering. It felt a bit like breathing water, and they were sweating profusely under their clothes, designed for the cooler English weather.

"I can't imagine what it must be like with an armour," Hugh muttered, passing a hand across his forehead.

"And believe me, you don't want to," Cadfael grimaced. "When I was here, only the most devout of knights wore their armour constantly. The others wore them only for battles, and tried to put them on at the last minute."

"The most devout of knights," Beringar repeated. "You mean the Knights Templars?"

"Well, yes," Cadfael admitted. "They were impressive on the battlefield, I must say. They would stand and fight to the last, and curse their enemies with their dying breath. I never saw such bravery before." Or such foolishness.

"You must have seen many battles, haven't you?"

"More than I would have liked."

"In the end, why did you come back to England?" Cadfael nearly stopped dead in his tracks at the unexpected, personal question, and Hugh's reaction was immediate. "Forgive me. I didn't mean to pry."

"No, it's alright," the monk shook his head. "Although sometimes I wonder if I did not decide a bit hastily. I was only thirty-something at the time, after all."

Beringar, who was in his late twenties, sniggered at that. "Yes, you were very much a child still."

"I never intended to stay forever in the Holy Land. As exotic as it might be, England is still my homeland. Actually, I stayed much longer than I initially intended... I do not regret leaving, in any case. It was time for me to go home," Cadfael said.

He was not being totally sincere, and he knew it. Did he really not regret anything? How many times had he thought about it... what would have happened, if he had stayed a few months and had known about Maryam being pregnant? What would he have done, then? Would he have still left - fled back to England? Or would he have stayed, even though he knew he could never marry Maryam? He had known that when he had begun seeing her... but he had never expected to fall in love. Was that the reason why he had shown such little enthusiasm and eagerness to go back and marry Richildis?

If he had known about Maryam's pregnancy, he would have had to make the painfullest of choices. Knowing that he could never bring her back to England with him, he would have had to choose between his son and his country, and to his shame he was not certain, far from it, that he would have chosen to stay. Perhaps God, mercifully, had chosen to spare him such a decision... Yet, he still felt a pang of pain in his chest whenever he thought that he had never got to see his son grow up to become such a fine man. Maybe that was why he enjoyed being Giles' godfather so much - it was almost like a second chance. Yet, Giles was not Olivier, and Olivier did not need a father any more. That fact hurt more than the monk would have thought.

"...fael?"

The monk realized he had been staring into space for a few minutes now, and that had not gone unnoticed by his friend. He gave Hugh a sheepish smile.

"Sorry, I was lost in thoughts. What were you saying?"

"We are there."

Indeed, Cadfael realized with a start, they were in the middle of the street market. He had not even paid attention to the crowd and merchants, so deeply immersed he was in the past. It was no use, he told himself firmly. He could change nothing, so why dwell on it? He should be grateful he knew about his son at all, and if remaining silent and keeping his pride hidden deeply in his heart was the price to pay, then so be it.

Now that he was paying attention to his surroundings, Cadfael noticed a lot of things that felt remotely familiar. A few feet away, a merchant was selling exotic spices, and their strong fragrance was carried by the wind. It would be fun to see Hugh taste the local food for the first time, the monk thought with an inward smirk. He remembered his own reaction to the highly spiced dishes and the three glasses of water he had downed immediately after taking the first bite - all the while trying not to offend his host. A bit farther, a woman was selling Saracen jewellery, as well as perfumes, scented aromatics, incense and cosmetics such as kohl or ocre oil. On their left, a man sold all kinds of wines, and it was only the beginning.

At that point, Cadfael realized Hugh had stopped dead in his tracks and was staring at something on the other side of the street.

"What the Devil is that thing!?" Beringar exclaimed.

Surprised, the monk turned to look at the 'thing', and he could not help laughing when he saw just what had elicited such a reaction from his friend.

"That, my dear fellow, is called a dromedary."

While speaking, Cadfael followed Hugh closer to the beast; his friend was clearly moved by curiosity, but he backed away when the stench of the animal reached his nose.

"I didn't imagine such things existed," Beringar said, looking slightly disgusted, and the monk bit back a laugh.

"They are very strong," he commented. "Most useful in the desert, to carry charges. Although you probably won't see that many of them near Jerusalem - Christians use mainly horses and donkeys."

"Thank God!" came the expected answer. "I don't like the way this thing is looking at us."

This time, Cadfael chuckled. "They are harmless. Mostly."

Hugh scowled at him. "Mostly?"

The monk shrugged. "I guess it depends whether you dread a flea onslaught or not. If so, you'd better not stick to close to dromedaries, indeed."

That was enough to put a stop to Hugh's fascination with the exotic beast, and they resumed their walking in the streets. After a while, though, the sultriness began to take its toll on them, and they headed back by mutual consent. The relative coolness and calm that reigned on board the Relentless was a relief after this first sampling of the Saracen culture. It had been a fascinating visit, though, and Cadfael now remembered why he had been so taken with the Holy Land, the first time he had come.

Their ship left the port with the evening tide, and soon enough Tunis was behind them. Curiously, Hugh's seasickness seemed to have receded a lot, and he did not look half as green as he had been the previous evening. Full of energy, he announced he was going to take a walk on the deck, while Cadfael decided to stay in their room and chant Compline. It was more than time he remembered his duties as a Benedictine.

* * *

Thinking again of all the new things he had discovered in Tunis, Hugh walked slowly on the deck, taking pleasure for the first time in the salty smell of the ocean and the gentle rocking of the ship. Now, he began to understand how Cadfael could have chosen to sail the Mediterranean, hunting pirates. The sound of the waves, the creaking of the ship were appeasing, after a fashion. It was much more silent at sea than in the countryside. In Shrewsbury, there was always a dog barking far away, or the singing of insects. In a sense, it was... restful. Even more so since he was alone on the deck, the only other man in the vicinity being the helmsman on the upper deck.

Hugh looked at the sea, thoughtful. It would only be a few days until they reached Arsur, their destination, and then their search for Antony of Thornbury would begin. He wondered how hard it would be to find him. The Holy Land was a huge place. Of course, their first step would be Jerusalem, which was currently under Christian rule, since they were more likely to find Thornbury in a more important town. Besides, they had to start somewhere, and Jerusalem was a good a place as any.

The Kingdom of Jerusalem... Hugh had never thought he would see that place, yet there he was. Destiny was a strange thing, he thought. Or perhaps he should say that of Stephen's whims. His King had a tendency to act first and think only after it was too late, and that was infuriating, although His Grace did have other qualities that made up for his deficiencies. In all fairness, Hugh was convinced that Maud's claim to the throne was more justified than Stephen's - after all, she had been singled out by Henry I - but he also believed without a doubt that Stephen would make a much better ruler for England. Which was why he had eventually picked his side and pledged himself to him. Even now, he did not regret it, although he would certainly have strangled the King when he had first heard of this mission to find Thornbury.

Deep in thought, Beringar walked closer to a stack of cases, but his attention was drawn back to reality when he noticed a move in the dark behind them. At first, he thought it was his imagination playing tricks on him, but as he looked closed he definitely made out something that should not have been there. Or someone?

Walking casually closer, from the corner of his eye he saw a dark figure shrink back, and he heard a faint gasp. Adrenalin flowed in his veins as he readied himself, and when he had come as close as he dared, he leapt to the attack with the elasticity of a cat. However, he was hardly fast enough to catch the arm of the mysterious person hiding behind the cases, and he let out a groan when he felt a smart pain in his hand. The stowaway had bitten him!?

He fought with his opponent for a few moments before he managed to overpower him; although Beringar was short and slender, he was still stronger than the stowaway, it seemed. But only when he dragged his foe out of the protective shade of the cases, did he realize that it was a woman he had been fighting. A Saracen woman, with delicate features and smouldering charcoal for eyes, who was glaring at him almost childishly. Then, a baby began to cry behind the cases, and Hugh gaped at the stowaway, too astonished to utter a word.  



	3. Arsur

**A/N** : School is resuming, but I hope to update chapters 4-7 in the next few days.

* * *

**Chapter 3**

Of all the things Cadfael might have expected to see that evening, Hugh Beringar barging into their room and pushing a woman in front of him was not one. But when he noticed the child that woman was craddling in her arms, the monk truly began to wonder whether he was awake or not. Yet, the scene appeared to be very real. Hugh closed the door behind him and, arms folded, stared at the woman, who glared back.

"What is the meaning of this?!" Cadfael exclaimed, dumbfounded.

"That is what I would like to know," Hugh replied sternly.

The monk's eyes turned to the woman, who tightened her arms fiercely around the child, as though she feared they would hurt him.

"Give her a moment, Hugh - you can see she's frightened."

His friend snorted. "She did not seem so upset when she attacked me, but have it your way."

Cadfael could not really blame Beringar for being a little disgruntled; judging from the long scratch on his neck, the woman had fought him savagely. But he knew they would get nothing from her until she calmed herself, so he gestured for her to sit on the bed and poured her a glass of water. In spite of her defiance, she accepted the cool liquid gratefully, and when it became clear they were not going to mistreat her for the time being, she eased up a little.

"Now," the monk said soothingly, "what's your name?"

She looked at him, and a few foreign words passed her lips. Cadfael frowned; it sounded like she was speaking Saracen, but he could not understand what she said. He had to make her repeat three times before he managed to translate the simple sentence.

"So?" Hugh asked. "Can you understand her?"

"I think so," he nodded. "It's been a very long time, but I still remember a few words. She said her name is Ayah."

"Ayah," Beringar repeated as he looked at the girl.

She recognized at least her name and raised her chin defiantly. "Ayah," she repeated, then looked questioningly at the two men. Cadfael racked his brains to remember the word for 'name', then gave up and just pointed at himself, then his friend.

"Cadfael. Lord Beringar."

Ayah tried to repeat the names, and she managed surprisingly well for someone who did not speak English. The syllables rolled easily on her tongue, and the monk began to wonder whether she truly did not speak their language, or if she was just faking it. But until he could be certain, he decided to keep his doubts to himself, and gestured questioningly at the child.

"_Man... adha?_" He asked hesitantly.

She looked puzzled for a moment, and he suspected his sentence was not quite correct, but her features suddenly brightened in understanding and she pointed at the child. "Gawain."

Sharing a dubious glance with Hugh, Cadfael gazed at the baby. Gawain was a strange name for a Saracen, indeed. Yet, he could not help but think of another Saracen - or half-Saracen - he knew, who also bore a Christian name. The occurrence was not so unusual...

"Can you ask her what she was doing onboard this ship?" Beringar asked hopefully.

The monk scratched his head. "Not at this ungodly hour, no. My Saracen is too rusty. For now, I'm not sure what we can do... Does the captain know about her?"

"No," Hugh shook his head. "I brought her here immediately, because she spoke in this impossible language and I thought you might be able to translate."

"Good. Better to keep it that way, if possible," Cadfael sighed. "A woman onboard... that's a cause for concern, especially when no one saw her get there. I'm sorry to admit most sailors are of a superstitious nature, and even more so with Saracen women. They might very well want to throw her overboard, and I am not sure we would be able to prevent it."

Was it a gleam of fear he saw in Ayah's eyes? The monk's suspicion about her knowledge of English was getting stronger and stronger; from the way Hugh glanced at her, he could tell his friend shared the same thought, and he gave him a slight nod. Beringar was good at hiding his thoughts, but unless he really tried hard, he was not able to fool Cadfael, who had known him for years now. Ayah had not, though, and she caught nothing of the silent exchange between the two men.

"Although," Cadfael resumed, musing, "I'm afraid it means she will have to share our room."

"The way she got here," Hugh commented dryly, "I don't think she will complain."

The under sheriff of Shropshire might know nigh to nothing of the Saracen culture, but one thing was the same in both Muslim and Christian civilizations; no respectable woman would travel on her own, without at the very least another woman, and certainly not as a stowaway. Yet, Cadfael could not help but wonder. Although her clothes were plain-looking and a little dirty, they were of good quality. The way she moved, she did not seem to be trying to attract attention, like a prostitute would; on the contrary, she kept her eyes modestly down, except when her temper got out of control. That was the behaviour of an educated woman - although it did not prove anything, behaviours could be faked. But Cadfael added it to the mystery she already represented in his eyes.

"You should get ready for the night," the monk told Ayah. "Hmm... _anti_ _wajaba_... _wajjad_ _layla?_"

She thought for a few heartbeats, then nodded but looked expectantly at them. Obviously, she wanted to be left alone for a little while - which was exactly what Cadfael wanted as well in the first place.

"Let's give her some privacy," he suggested.

Hugh raised an eyebrow but made for the door without a question, grabbing his weapons on the way out. He obviously did not wish to leave her alone with anything that could be used against them, which was a wise precaution. Cadfael followed his friend's lead and closed the door behind him, and both men moved a few steps away from the door. Ayah could not possibly leave without their noticing her, since there was only one door to the room, but she could not overhear them either.

"She is making fools of us both," Hugh stated. "And she speaks English like you an me."

"Of course she does," Cadfael agreed. "I think she's trying to... appraise us, for lack of a better word. That's only reasonable, in her situation. After all, she is a Saracen woman, all alone with a child to take care of, and we are two Christian men. She has grounds to be frightened. The language barrier is a means of protecting herself."

"The kind of men you are referring to, Brother, would not stop at that," Beringar commented dryly.

"Of course not," the monk granted soothingly. "But that's all she has."

His friend's features softened. "I can understand that. But I am not certain we should trust her too quickly."

"And I tend to agree," Cadfael admitted. "I think we should try to get her to admit she speaks English first; once we can talk with her, it should be easier to deal with her."

"Just how are we going to do that?"

"Well..."

Hugh's eyes widened in mock surprise. "Ha, I should have known my rare Benedictine would have an idea already!"

The monk could not help but smile at this jest, and he held a finger threateningly. "Be nice, my dear fellow, or I might not tell you."

His friend feigned terror. "Oh, you wouldn't be so heartless, would you?"

Cadfael stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Well, perhaps if you showed generosity..."

Beringar's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "Bribery? How unchristian is that?"

"What opinion do you have of me?" The monk pretended he was offended. "All for alms, my dear fellow, all for alms." He became serious again. "Now, hear my plan..."

* * *

They headed back inside after they considered they had given Ayah enough time to do whatever it was she needed to do privately. She was quietly waiting, seated on one of the two beds, Gawain in her lap. Judging from the contented look on the baby's face, he had been fed, and he was now drowsing, as his mother rocked him gently.

"You ought to sleep, now," Cadfael suggested, but all he got in answer was a blank look. "Hmm... _yanâmu?_"

"Why do I get the feeling your conversation with her is not very... elaborate?" Hugh joked.

The monk cast him a mock glare. "Well, if you think you can do better..."

"Nay, I'm afraid not," Beringar chuckled. "Unless you want me to speak to her in French."

"Then let me handle it," Cadfael said scoldingly.

His friend raised a hand. "Gladly! Truth to be told, I'm amazed that after all this time you would remember even a few words."

Neither of them paid the woman any further attention, and if she had been worried one of them might be tempted to share her bed, her fears were soon proven ill-founded. Hugh just grabbed a blanket from Cadfael's bed and settled on the floor - he would have shared the monk's bed, but it was too small for the two of them. On a ship, there was never much spare room, and everything was strictly the necessary size.

"What are we going to do with these two, do you think?" Hugh asked as he unfastened his belt and laid his sword down. "They're somewhat cumbersome. The simplest way would probably be to sell them as slaves."

"That's an idea," Cadfael said thoughtfully. "But I'm not sure a slaver would be interested in such a young child."

"That can be taken care of," his friend reply while patting his dagger.

Ayah had been glancing at them with increasing nervousness, although she tried to hide it. But when the threat became obvious, she made a panicked dash for the door. Cadfael had expected that, and he stepped in front of her. She began to hit him with her free arm, holding Gawain with the other one, but she could not hurt him and he gently got hold of her wrist to stop her. She looked like a trapped animal, eyes darting around her, searching for a means of escape and finding none.

"Calm down," he ordered. "We are not going to hurt you, or your son. And we are not going to sell you, either. I'm sorry, but you left us no other alternative. You would never have trusted us, would you? Don't worry. You are safe, here."

He spoke soothingly, his voice soft and gentle, and slowly she gave up fighting and let the monk take her back to the bed. Now, she was trembling, but she kept the control of her emotions and clenched her fists determinedly. The commotion had awakened Gawain, and he began to sleepily rub his eyes with his small fingers. Cadfael could not help but grin when he saw Hugh's angular features soften as he looked at the baby; his friend always had had a way with children.

"You can speak English," the monk stated. "It's no use denying it."

Ayah seemed to hesitate, then her charcoal-dark eyes hardened, showing she had reached a decision, and she spoke in their language for the first time. "How did you find out?" Her voice was grave, tinged with a Saracen accent.

Hugh chuckled. "We are not blind, you know. And I think we are entitled to a few questions."

The woman raised her chin defiantly. "Ask, then. But I do not promise an answer."

She seemed to expect an argument at this point, but Beringar merely nodded. "Fair enough. Why did you climb onboard this ship?"

Cadfael leant back against the wall, letting his friend take the lead for the moment. Hugh was better than him at asking questions and manipulating people, when the monk was a better observer, able to deduce facts and clues from the tiniest bit of evidence. Together, there was no mystery they could not solve.

"I wanted to go to England," she admitted, looking down.

Hugh and Cadfael shared a glance. "To England?"

"You are English, are you not?" she looked at them both questioningly. "So you must be going back to England, no?"

"I am afraid not," the monk sighed, and a gleam of alarm appeared in her eyes.

"You... you're not going to England?" she choked, raising a delicate hand to her mouth. She sounded thunderstruck. "But... where then?"

"Arsur."

"_Lâ... li-mâdhâ_?!" she moaned in her own language, and Cadfael recognized words of dismay. Her tone of voice was obvious enough as it was, anyway.

"Why did you want to go to England?" Hugh asked, unhesitatingly taking advantage of her dismay to get her to talk.

"I just wanted to go," she replied guardedly. She still did not trust them, but it was hardly surprising. That would take time, and Hugh was shrewd enough not to push the matter.

"Why were you travelling alone, then? Don't you have any friends or family? What of your husband?"

"I don't have a husband," she replied abruptly, her features hardening. "I just have Gawain. And my friends can't help me."

"But what would you have done, once in England?" Cadfael insisted. "You are a Saracen woman, are you not? Your faith..."

Ayah slipped a hand beneath her clothes and held out a thin silver cross that she wore around her neck with a silver chain. "I am a Christian too. I was converted years ago. And Gawain was baptized."

Cadfael exchanged a look of astonishment with Hugh. Then again, given the child's name...

"I see... but I am not sure that would have been enough," he said ruefully. "If you will take my advice, you should not go there."

"I have to!" she snapped back. "And it is my right!"

"Your right?" Beringar frowned. "What do you mean?"

The woman looked down again. "Nothing," she murmured.

"In any case, you are going with us to Arsur," Cadfael pointed out. "There is nothing either of us can do about that. What are you going to do, when we get there?"

She lowered her head, this time clearly aghast. "I don't know..." she whispered.

"In that case," the monk commented, "I suggest you think about it before we get there. Meanwhile, you should remain here and stay hidden from the crew, for your own safety. Right now, though, it's almost midnight and I think we should go to sleep."

"Yes, let's not deprive an old man from his rest," Hugh grinned, and Cadfael smacked him gently on the shoulder.

* * *

The rest of the journey was rather quiet, but also very strange. It was the first time in his life Cadfael was awoken in the middle of the night by the muffled screams of a child, or that he had to live in such close proximity with a woman. There was little room on board a ship, and even less in a cabin. The two men got in the habit of spending a lot of time outside on the deck, but when Hugh got seasick again, the small room became very crowded. Fortunately, it was only a few days until they reached their destination.

Arsur was a much smaller port than Tunis, inhabited almost exclusively by Christians, although a few Saracens - mostly old men, women or children - went about their business as well. Smuggling Ayah out, in the agitation of the arrival, was not too much of a problem.

The sultriness, however, was unbearable for two men used to the harsher English weather. It was the beginning of the summer, and the heat would only increase as days went by. Cadfael had thought he remembered what it was like, but he quickly realized his memories were deceptive.

"Well, here we are," Hugh commented as they walked away from the ship that had carried them so far. "Now, you are the one who knows this country, Brother, so I'm listening; what should be our first step?"

Cadfael thought about it for a moment. "I think you should take this letter Lord Willoughby gave us, and pay a visit to the local Templar commander. If Lord Thornbury is in town, he will know, and if that's not the case, then we will not waste our time looking for him here. Meanwhile, I'll take care of the accommodation for tonight, and I'll buy us horses. We'll need them to get to Jerusalem."

Beringar raised an eyebrow. "You sound reasonably certain we will not find Lord Thornbury here."

"It would be too easy," Cadfael sighed. "Frankly, I would be very surprised if we did. But it's worth asking, and since we are here..."

"Good enough for me." Hugh handed Cadfael a heavy purse, and he concealed it quickly beneath his clothes. No need to tempt anyone into attacking a _seemingly _defenceless Benedictine.

"There is a small inn, third street on the right when you take the main street," the monk informed his friend. "You can meet us there when you're done."

They parted, and soon Hugh vanished in the crowd, while Cadfael led Ayah behind him. He was also carrying their bags, which fortunately were not heavy, and the woman kept Gawain hidden in her loose-fitting robe. The child would attract attention if he was visible, and they both wished to avoid that.

Five minutes later, they reached the inn Cadfael had mentioned previously, and he was pleased with his memory, although slightly frustrated. He had trouble remembering the simplest words of the Saracen language, yet he was able to easily recall the address of an inn where he had spent hardly a week. Even though it was _quite _a week... still, memory was a strange thing.

Shoving these musings in the back of his mind, Cadfael asked for three rooms. No question were asked, but the innkeeper informed him there were only two rooms available, and the monk resigned himself to sharing a room yet again, since of course Ayah would get a room for herself and Gawain. But at least this time, he would not be awaken by the cries of a child. That was one aspect of fatherhood he was not so fond of.

The innkeeper led them to their rooms then left immediately, not without giving Cadfael and Ayah an assuming look. The monk knew precisely what her thoughts were, and so did Ayah, judging from her flushed cheeks. No matter what she might have said about having no husband, she was definitely not a prostitute, if a simple glance could get such a reaction from her.

"I am going to get the horses," Cadfael told her. "You should remain here in the meantime."

"I will," she said obediently.

The monk was careful to take both his dagger and Hugh's gold - which he would need to buy the horses anyway. Not that he thought Ayah was dishonest... but the innkeeper might be, and one was never too careful.

* * *

When Hugh reached the headquarters of the order, he was politely but adamantly informed that the commander did not have time to see him, and he was compelled to pull rank and use the letter the King had entrusted him and Cadfael with. It worked wonders, and a few minutes later he was taken to the commander, who was in his office.

The commander was a tall and wiry man, and his tanned face was proof enough he had spent numerous years in the Holy Land. His armour and chain mail were no longer shiny, although he obviously took great care of them, but tarnished and covered with minute nicks, silent witnesses of all the battles he had been into. The man had light blond hair, bleached by the harsh sun, that contrasted with his browned skin, and his eyes were a faded blue which seemed to indicate he was of Norman ancestry.

"My lord Beringar," the commander said, pursing his lips. "I am Brother Peter of Blythe. I was told you come... with Royal authority to back you up. Although I would like to remind you the Templars do not take orders from the King."

The way Blythe said it, it was obvious Royal authority did not have all that much weight in the Holy Land, and the Templar wanted to make it clear he was not at just anyone's beck and call. Hugh had no reason to antagonize the commander, and he held up a soothing hand.

"Far be it from me to give you orders. No, I have only a single question to ask you, then I'll leave."

The Templar looked slightly surprised, although he was difficult to read, then gave a small nod urging Beringar to continue.

"I am looking for a man called Antony of Thornbury. Do you know whether he is in town?"

Blythe gave it some thought, frowning. "Is that man a knight?"

"Yes, although he is not a Templar, as far as I know. Or at least he wasn't when he came here."

"I am sorry to disappoint you," Blythe said, shaking his head, "but he is not here. I am immediately notified when a knight arrives here, so I can tell you that with absolute certainty."

Hugh sighed, but he wasn't surprised. As Cadfael had said, it would have been too easy. "I will take my leave, then. Thank you."

Blythe shrugged. "You are welcome. My sergeant will show you out."

Hugh heeded the dismissal and left. A Templar sergeant, clad in black instead of the knights' white mantle, led him out of the headquarters, and soon enough he found himself in the sweltering street. The only sensible thing to do was to find the inn Cadfael had mentioned; they could leave Arsur in the morning and head to Jerusalem.

Arsur being a reasonably small port, Beringar had no difficulty finding the inn. As he came in, he noticed its name, displayed on an old and worn wooden shop sign; the _Knight's Rest_, and he wondered when Cadfael had last come there, and what kind of memories tied him to this place. Ties strong enough to bring him back there after two decades... Perhaps he had met a woman in this inn.

With this amusing thought, a smiling Hugh asked the inn holder to show him to the room of his friend, but when he knocked there was no answer. Assuming that the monk was still trying to find the horses, and knowing that he would not find him - even in such a small town - Beringar decided to lie down for a moment. It was very pleasant not to have the ground rock under his feet for a change, and the beds, although they were not of the best quality, were much better than onboard the _Relentless_.

Drifting to sleep, he was awoken by the sound of the door opening, and reluctantly opened his eyes to establish that his friend was back. For some reason, Cadfael chuckled when he saw Hugh already in bed.

"You know, it's only five in the afternoon," he commented.

"Really?" Beringar muttered in a sleepy voice. "Is that important?"

"What, you don't want to have a look at the horses I bought - with _your _gold?"

"Not really, no. I'm sure you chose marvellously." Hugh's voice was gently sarcastic, but the monk seemed to have endless energy.

"So, I assume Thornbury is indeed not in town?" Cadfael asked.

Beringar deigned to half-open an eye to glance at him. "Indeed, he is not. Which means, I suppose, that we have to leave to Jerusalem tomorrow at dawn."

The monk sat down thoughtfully. "What of Ayah, then?"

"Quite frankly," Hugh sighed, "I don't know. We have no obligation to her... yet I would feel bad if I left her on her own, I must confess."

"Just as I would," Cadfael agreed. "I had to buy a donkey to carry our bags. She could ride it."

"So we'd be taking her to Jerusalem. What then?"

They remained silent for a few minutes; neither of them had an answer to that question.

"We can think about that later," Cadfael finally said lightly. "For now, I think I actually could use a short nap too, before dinner."

"What, at this hour? Should you not be chanting Vespers?"

Cadfael turned a deaf ear to Hugh's gentle mockery and his only answer was a deep yawn.


	4. The Holy City

**A/N : **Here is chapter 4, as promised !

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**Chapter 4**

When Cadfael and Hugh got up the next morning, they were in for a surprise, although they did not know it yet. It was dawn, and the first sunrays went through the closed shutters. The heat was still bearable, but not for much longer according to the monk's experience. He roused his friend ruthlessly until Beringar sat up.

"Are you awake yet?" Cadfael asked, folding his arms.

"Nay," Hugh groaned while stiffling a yawn. "But I'm up."

The monk grinned as he remembered of all the times he had told Brother Jerome the exact same thing. Perhaps he was rubbing off on Hugh. He hoped not; his friend was hopeless enough as it was.

"We should leave as soon as possible," Cadfael explained. "It's best to travel in the early morning. Actually, we should already have left."

The two men got dressed, and for once the monk was glad that his clothes were so plain. He just needed to put his sandals on, as well as his frock, and he was ready. He waited patiently for Hugh to put on his boots and bliaud, and to fasten his belt, then went to knock softly on Ayah's door. No answer came, and he sighed; she was probably still asleep. He hesitated to enter the room, but there was no other choice. Ready to avert his eyes if she was not decent, he opened the door... and stopped dead in his tracks.

"Cadfael?"

Turning to look at Hugh, the monk opened his mouth, then closed it, astonished. Surprised to see him in such a state, Beringar strode to the threshold to look at Ayah's room. This time it was he who gaped silently in amazement, and he shared a glance with Cadfael.

"Where the Devil has she gone?" Hugh muttered as he looked yet again at the empty bed in Ayah's room.

"I don't know, but she took Gawain with her," Cadfael commented. "_And _she did not sleep here at all. She probably left yesterday in the evening, while we were both dozing."

"But _why?_ She was safe, with us..."

Having no answer to offer, the monk shrugged. There was nothing they could do, since Ayah was probably far away by now, not to mention they had no reason to force her to travel with them if she did not want to.

"Perhaps she has some family around here..." he finally ventured. "She might have thought it was safer to leave without our knowing. She had no real reason to trust us, after all."

Whatever had happened, they would learn nothing more by staring at an empty bed, so they resigned themselves to leaving the inn while it was still early and headed to the stables with their bags. Then they were up for the second surprise that day, although that one was not totally unexpected; the donkey Cadfael had bought the previous day was no longer in the stables with their two horses, and there was no question who had taken it.

"Hem. I suppose we can consider it as a... long-term loan?" the monk suggested, taking a look at his friend. It was _his _gold that had been used to purchase the donkey, after all.

Beringar pursed his lips, then laughed. "Ah, well. I wish her good luck with that beast, if it is as stubborn as the rest of its kind. As for us, we'll travel quicker and lighter if we just take the strict minimum."

Cadfael smiled, remembering the disregard and attitude Hugh always showed with money. As he had told the monk once, when one had enough of it, the rest was just cumbersome. Besides, he had given his two best horses to a young lady who needed them, once; no doubt he would have done the same with a donkey, had Ayah only asked him to. Now, whatever the young woman did, it was no longer their business, and they took to loaden the two horses with the water skins Cadfael had purchased the previous day. They would need it on their way to Jerusalem. Their personal effects, they put in the saddlebags, with a small supply of food; just enough for the three or four days the travel would take them.

When, at last, they were ready to leave, the sun was much higher than the monk would have liked, but there was no helping it, so they just mounted their horses and began their journey to the Holy City. Cadfael had chosen for himself a black mare with white socks, which was probably aged around ten and gentle though energetic. Hugh's stallion had a dark brown coat, with a much lighter mane. It was an unusual colour, but it was not the first time the monk saw it. He had hesitated to buy the horse at first, because he had noticed at first glance that its mouth was too hard, evidence that its previous owner had had a heavy hand. However, finding a good horse was not all that easy, and time had been running out, so Cadfael had decided that Hugh would just have to do with it. Besides, if his friend could handle his favourite grey, nasty-tempered horse, then he could certainly master this one.

"Where did you find these horses, anyway?" Beringar asked, as though reading the monk's thoughts.

"The port," Cadfael explained.

They had by now passed by the last houses of the town, and headed eastward, leaving Arsur behind them. The path they followed was dry and sandy, and the horses raised up clouds of dust behind them. The countryside was rather gloomy, a desert of rocks with hardly a few rickety bushes to break its monotony.

"The port?"

The monk brought his attention from the countryside back to his friend. "Yes, the port. I thought the people most likely to sell horses would be people about to embark. If it had failed, then I would have tried the Templars' stables, but I'm glad I didn't have to. I am not certain how they would have reacted to such a request."

Hugh chuckled. "I see. But their commander, Peter of Blythe, was very helpful. After a fashion."

Cadfael raised an eyebrow. "Did you have to rely much on Royal authority?"

His friend began to twist his leather reins thoughtfully. "It might have been a mistake to do so. Blythe made it clear the Templars will not take orders from the King."

"You mean we shouldn't use these letters?"

"No. We can use them. But it would be wise to express requests rather than orders."

The monk shrugged. "Well, I'll leave the handling of the Templars to you, then."

Before noon, the blazing sun made the air as sweltering as ever; around two in the afternoon, Cadfael pulled his rein and his mare obediently came to a stop.

"What is the matter?" asked Hugh, who halted his own horse as well, although he had to pull much harder on his own reins to convince the brown stallion to obey.

"At this time of the day, we'd better find some shade and rest for at least two hours if we don't want to end up with a sunstroke," the monk explained.

"Won't argue against that," Beringar grinned, running a hand across his forehead to wipe out the sweat.

They dismounted and led their horses near thick, thorny bushes on the side of the road. It was not much but it would provide enough shade for their purpose. Cadfael unfastened one of the water skins, and allowed himself three gulps of the lukewarm water before he handed it to his friend. Hugh took roughly the same amount before he corked the water skin and laid it on the ground ruefully, then he sat down beside the monk.

"Were we in England, I'd say this water is the foulest thing I've ever tasted, save your repellent medicines of course. But in the present circumstances, it tastes better than my finest French wine."

Cadfael stared at his friend with feigned hurt. "How could you say that when my repellent medicines saved your life so many times?"

"It is exactly why I can say that.," Hugh grinned. "I have had more than one occasion to taste them."

"Oh, very well then," the monk replied, faking Brother Jerome's trademark haughty look with some success. "Next time I shall let you wallow in your pain and misery and keep my _repellent _remedies for myself."

"Next time?" Beringar repeated with mock surprise. "I have no intention of being stabbed anytime soon."

"I didn't know you had planned it, last time it happened," Cadfael commented with a sidelong glance.

Hugh began to laugh. "If you look at it that way, of course..."

The monk pulled his hood over his head, and Beringar stared at him. "Don't tell me you are cold, Brother."

"The fabric protects me from the sun," Cadfael explained. "It'll spare me sunburns." He glanced at the sun, and sighed. It was much too early to leave again. They had hardly travelled for half a day, but already he felt like he had lost at least a quart of water through various means. But now that he was accustoming himself again to the country in which he had spent his youth, memories flooded through his mind. Things he had forgotten that he had ever known came back to him, as clear as when he had first learnt them. Somehow, he felt younger than ever, when it ought to be the contrary. But why try to understand it?

"I'll make some tea," he said while rising to his feet.

Hugh stared at him as though he had grown another head. "Tea? You want to drink something _warm?_ Are you totally certain this hood of yours protects you from sunstrokes?"

Having expected that reaction, Cadfael chuckled. "I know it sounds strange, but trust me, Saracens do it all the time and you do feel fresher afterwards."

Beringar raised a dubious eyebrow, then shrugged. "Well, we can try it, but if it works I'll have to accuse you of sorcery."

"What about being blessed by God instead?" the monk suggested.

He lit a fire, keeping it as small as possible, but even then the additional warmth was unpleasant, and Cadfael wished for a cold bath, although that was a luxury he wouldn't have for a long time. He should have taken the opportunity the day before, when they were still close to the sea, but he had been too busy for that. Well, he would just have to live with it.

When the water began to boil, the monk put out the fire and poured himself and his friend two cups of tea. They did not have anything to sweeten it, but it would serve its purpose well enough. Beringar grimaced when he tasted the bitter beverage, and Cadfael could hardly blame him, but after a few minutes they began to feel cooler, as strange as it may seem.

One hour later, when the sun was blazing less intensely, they resumed their journey and did not stop until the evening. As the sun disappeared slowly in the west and the inflamed sky darkened, the air cooled down pleasantly. It was the best moment of the day, although it would last for little more than an hour, and the two men used this time to set their camp, although there was not all that much to do. They just lashed the horses and unsaddled them. All they had was dried food, so there was no need to cook it, yet Cadfael insisted they light a fire.

"Why bother?" Hugh asked. "Thinking of it, why did you bring blankets? Surely, it's warm enough we won't need..."

"That's where you're mistaken, my friend," the monk smiled humorlessly. "The desert is very unpleasant that way, but if in the day it's blazing hot, in the night it is just the contrary. Trust me, you'll be glad we brought the blankets before morning."

Hugh did not seem completely convinced, but he trusted his friend enough not to ask further, and he complied. Thus they lit a fire, and Cadfael made some more tea while they nibbled at their dried fruits and meat. It was not the finest food they could wish for, but it was enough to keep their strength, and the monk had eaten much worse in his life, as had Beringar. By this time, the night had fallen completely, and the pleasant warmth of the evening had disappeared, replaced by chilliness. Before long, both men were wound up in their blankets and close to the fire.

"I shall never doubt you again," Hugh joked as he took another sip of his tea. "Although it is beyond me how you could spend ten years in such a strange place."

Cadfael sighed wistfully. "A strange land indeed... but it has a curious charm to it. It is a land of adventures and miracles."

Beringar barked a laugh. "That I can believe. After seeing this... dromedary creature, I am not sure what to expect, either a two-headed sheep or a speaking donkey."

Cadfael pondered that for a moment. "No," he finally said. "Can't say I have ever seen anything like what you described in all my time here. Although I forgot to ask the donkey I bought yesterday whether it could speak or not."

They spent a rather unpleasant night. Not only was it ungodly cold, but the ground was not very comfortable either, with or without blankets to sleep in. Yet, both Cadfael and Hugh were used to travelling in sometimes difficult conditions, and they managed to sleep soundly, although they were stiff and sore when they woke the following day. Dawn lit up the sky shamefully early, and they got up, determined this time to make use of the cooler moments of the day to travel. After quickly eating some dried fruits and swallowing a few sips of pleasantly fresh water, they saddled and mounted their horses, and left again.

The next few days brought nothing new. Each day was more or less the same, and nothing in the scenery seemed to show any evidence that they were getting closer to their destination. Yet, in the afternoon of the fourth day, the dark silhouette of a city appeared on the horizon, to both Cadfael and Hugh's satisfaction. It had taken them two months to get there, and they were weary of travelling. No matter what, they would probably spend at least a few days in Jerusalem before they went anywhere else, and they looked forward to it. With the Holy City in sight, they pressed their horses, and by the end of the afternoon they came past the first houses.

"This is David's Gate," Cadfael explained as they went through the precincts of the city. "And on our right, that's David's Tower."

"How many gates are there?" Hugh asked with understandable curiousity. It was the Holy City, and a feeling of reverence came to both men as they laid their eyes upon its walls.

"Six, if I remember correctly, although I would be completely unable to remember all their names," the monk admitted ruefully.

They left David's Tower behind them and stepped onto a wide street that led to the heart of the city. There were many people in the streets, and no one paid any heed to two travellers coming from the west. Most of the people seemed to be either monks, noblemen, and pilgrims, or Knights of various orders, the Templars' white or black mantles featuring prominently amongst them, although Cadfael recognized a few Hospitallers as well. There were almost no Saracens at all; it was indeed a Christian city, at least for the time being.

"So?" Hugh asked.

Cadfael turned a startled look toward him. "So what?"

"You are the Holy Land expert," his friend grinned. "Where can we find a place to stay?"

The monk thoughtfully rubbed his chin. He needed a shave, he realized ruefully. It hardly consoled him that Hugh did as well. "It's been a long time..." he murmurred. "I suppose we could find an inn, but the simplest way would probably to ask the Knights Hospitaller to accomodate us."

"The Knights Hospitaller?" Beringar repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Why them?"

"They are much more welcoming than the Templars," Cadfael explained. "And they eat more than thrice a week, at least. Following the rules is all good and well, but I hardly understand how starving oneself can be interpreted as a pious act, unless it is done in penance."

"I see," Hugh muttered. "That explains why all the Templars I saw so far are so wiry."

"You're one to speak," the monk scoffed, eyeing his friend's light build.

They kept moving on, but no matter how much Cadfael tried to remember, he was just unable to say where the Knights Hospitaller headquarters were. In the end, he just looked for a member of their order, wearing the black surcoat embroidered with the white cross, and asked him. The Knight did not look surprised by the question - after all, the raison d'être of their order was to help and protect the pilgrims in the Holy Land.

"You will find the Hospital of St. John in the Via Dolorosa," he explained. "Near the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, you can't miss it."

Cadfael thanked him, and quickly realized they had gone too far in the centre of the city. They turned back and took the next street on their right, just before the Patriarch's Pond. The Hospital was only a little further, a great building with white walls. A black cross had been drawn on it, by someone who made up for his lack of talent with redoubled enthusiasm, and the gates were opened. Cadfael remembered that the gates were opened at all times of the day and the night, as a sign of welcome for everyone. The porter did not try to stop them when they entered, and did not even ask them what their purpose was; he just stood at his post, ready to help if asked to, and if not, intent to just mind his own business.

"Greetings, Brother!" Cadfael said cheerfully.

The Hospitallers being a monastic order, he was entitled to calling them that.

"Greetings," the porter replied quietly. "How may I be of assistance?"

"I am Brother Cadfael, and this is Lord Beringar. My friend and I have travelled far, and we would like to remain here for a few days, if it's all right," the monk explained casually.

The porter nodded, used to that kind of requests. "Of course. There is room in the stables for your horses, and you are welcome to attend the evening meal with our Brothers and guests. For tonight, just find an empty room, and you may use it until you leave again."

Thanking him, the monk dismounted and walked to the stables with his mare, followed closely by Hugh and his brown stallion. They would have to care for their mounts by themselves, but they were used to it and it would not be a problem. For the moment, they just left the horses with enough grain, straw and water for their immediate needs, then set to find themselves a room. It did not take them long to appropriate one, and it even had a lock and a key, which meant they could safely leave their possessions there without fear that they would be stolen.

"It's past Vespers," Hugh said when they were finally settled, "but I think we still have time to visit the Templars before the evening meal, what do you say?"

"I agree," Cadfael sighed, although he eyed the bed ruefully. Four nights spend on a pebbly ground were not as restful as one might think, and his desire to lie down was second only to his wish for a cold bath.

They headed back out of the Hospital of St. John under the porter's impassive gaze, and made for the Templars' Headquarters. It was not hard to find, prominently built on the Temple Mount. Cadfael remembered that, although the building was formerly the Al Aqsa Mosque, the Templars called it the Temple of Solomon, since it was built on the ruins of the first Temple. It was from this Temple that the name of the Templars had been derived.

Having left their horses at St. John, the two men took about twenty minutes to walk to Temple Mount, and there the Templar sergeant who guarded the entrance proved much less welcoming than the Hospitallers. But Hugh and Cadfael did not let that deter them, and although it took a few minutes to convince the sergeant they did have to meet with the Commander, the man eventually allowed them to enter, after calling another sergeant to escort them. The second sergeant led them through a labyrinth of corridors until they reached a wide, wooden door, currently closed.

"Wait here," the sergeant said tersely, then knocked softly and entered when invited to.

The door closed behind him, and Hugh and Cadfael were left to wait. After five minutes, the sergeant made no sign of coming back, and the monk wondered whether he tried their patience on purpose. Another five minutes passed, and Hugh began to fidget impatiently. Although the Templars were not rude outright, they made little efforts to be polite either, and it took them another five minutes before the sergeant came out again and motioned for them to follow inside. They crossed two more rooms before they found themselves in a relatively small chamber that seemed to be an office, and an untidy one at that.

The sergeant remained behind them. The only other man in the room, save for the three of them, was a short and slender man with reddish-brown hair, whose eyes were a deep, seal brown in the dim light of the evening, although they flickered gold with the light of a candle nearby. The man wore a Knight Templar's white mantle, proof that he was of noble descent. His features were too angular for him to be considered handsome, but he had a look of sharp intelligence about him, and he moved with the quiet confidence of a man who relies on no one but himself. His armour and surcoat were battered, proof that he had been in battle often before, although he was no older than in his mid-thirties.

"_Mon seigneur, mon Frère_," he greeted them pleasantly. "_Je suis le capitaine Amaury de Biran, Commandeur suppléant à Jerusalem_."

Cadfael had not understood a single word, but he recognized the language as French. He could tell the Templar had just introduced himself, but was utterly unable to tell what his name was, or what else he might have said. Hugh glanced at the monk smugly; it was usually him who had to rely on Cadfael for translation, and he was obviously pleased that for once it was the other way round.

"_Capitaine_," Beringar said in French, with only a slight accent. "_Nous sommes heureux de vous rencontrer._."

The Templar frowned and looked closer at them. "Excuse me," he said. "You are English, are you not? I was not notified of that."

The sergeant who had brought the two visitors had the good grace to look sheepish under his officer's glare.

"It's quite all right," said Cadfael, relieved that he would not have to try and guess what the other man might be saying. "Are you French?"

"Indeed," the Knight nodded. "As are many of our Brethren, not to mention the Grand Master of our Order, Robert de Craon. But never mind that. As I was saying, I am captain Amaury de Biran, acting Commander in Jerusalem. Commander Evrard des Barres has left two weeks ago to inspect several of our outposts, and won't be back before several days, at best. There has been much tension in the vicinity lately, and we fear that peace might not last much longer. But, well. I assume you did not come to speak about politics or war."

"Not exactly, no," Hugh said. "We came here to ask for your help."

Amaury raised an eyebrow. "Indeed? How may I be of assistance?"

"We are here on the behalf of the King, looking for someone," Beringar explained, "and we thought you might know whether he is in the vicinity. His name is Antony of Thornbury."

Biran took in a sharp breath, and exchanged a glance with his sergeant. His dark eyes gleamed strangely as he turned his head to face his two guests, and his features darkened considerably. "If that is so," he said quietly, "I am afraid you are too late."

A bad feeling began to build up in Cadfael's chest, and the monk did not quite manage to discard it. "What do you mean?" he asked, although he was certain he did not want to hear the answer.

"Antony of Thornbury was indeed here," the Knight said slowly. "But he was murdered ten days ago."


	5. First Inquiry

**A/N** : I'm in a hurry but I want to thank again Kezya, for all these awful mistakes I made and she fixed. I don't know what I would do without her. I also want to thank Greenleaf's Daughter for all her very kind reviews, which I appreciate a lot.

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**Chapter 5**

An awkward silence followed Biran's announcement, and Cadfael shared a dismayed glance with his friend. They had come all this way for nothing, that was the first, though uncharitable, thought that crossed his mind. How could Thornbury have the impropriety of dying hardly ten days before their arrival? And now... now what? The monk looked at his friend's dark face, and knew at once that the same thoughts were in Hugh's mind at that moment. To an outside observer, he would seem impassive, but Cadfael knew him well enough to notice the slight twitch of his lips and the way his eyes were narrowed.

"I'm sorry," Biran said. "Was he a friend of yours?"

"Well, no," Cadfael admitted. "But I don't know..." he trailed off.

"Who murdered him, do you know?" Hugh interjected. "If we can't bring Thornbury back to the King, at the very least we should be able to tell him that justice was made, and the culprit was properly punished."

Amaury looked a bit reluctant, but finally said, "we do have a suspect. His name is Tahir, and he was Thornbury's manservant."

Cadfael narrowed his eyes, thoughtful. Tahir, that was a Saracen name, and if the monk's suspicion were right, he knew perfectly what was the hidden meaning behind the word "manservant". It was not uncommon two decades ago, and it did not seem to be now, but that was not the matter at hand. The one thing that mattered was to find out whether this man, Tahir, was indeed the murderer or not.

"What evidence do you have?" Hugh asked. "I gather it was not enough to convict him, yes? Since you said he was merely suspect..."

"We do not have overwhelming evidence," Amaury admitted. The Knight sounded more and more unwilling to continue the conversation, although he politely tried to hide it. He probably did not like the idea of two Englishmen meddling in his problems. "But he is our most likely culprit."

"Well, what are the facts?" Cadfael enquired, more and more curious now.

The Templar bit his lip impatiently, then gave in to their insistence, probably aware that they would not leave him alone until he had satisfied them. "As far as we know, Thornbury left Jerusalem in the morning. He was headed east, mounted on his favourite horse, according to the townspeople who saw him leave. Only one man accompanied him, his manservant, himself mounted on a donkey. Then, late in the evening, Tahir came back, claiming his master had been murdered."

"It seems a rather strange behaviour for a guilty man," Cadfael mused - not quite low enough for Amaury not to hear him, and the acting commander cast him a sharp glance before he went on with his story.

"Obviously, the claim was a way for Tahir to elude suspicion. Who else would have done it? Nothing was stolen from Thornbury's body, neither his money nor his rings."

"Was this man... Tahir, treated unfairly?" Hugh interjected. "Did he have any reason to hate his master?"

"Not that I know of," Amaury grudgingly conceded. "But he is, after all, a Saracen. That's a good enough reason, if you ask me."

"Yet, as long as there is no convincing evidence, he can't be condemned," Beringar pointed out.

The Frenchman gave him an annoyed glance, and Cadfael wondered whether he agreed with that last statement. But Amaury eventually nodded. "Well, I hoped to get him to confess... No such luck, so far. Of course, we'll keep interrogating him."

"So he is your prisoner?" Cadfael asked.

"Of course he is," the Templar frowned. "I would not allow a potential murderer to go free."

"I'd like to see him, then," the monk said with a polite smile.

Biran raised a dubious eyebrow. "You think he would tell you something he would not tell us?"

"Uuuh, no, of course not," Cadfael replied diplomatically, "but sometimes it is all a matter of how the questions are worded."

The Knight did not look completely convinced, but conceded with a shrug. "You certainly may see him if so you wish. I will come with you, and if you manage to find out anything new, you'll have my gratitude."

Cadfael would have preferred to speak to Tahir alone, or with Hugh, but Amaury's conditions were more than reasonable, so he did not argue. The acting commander led them out of his office and down to the cell where the Saracen manservant was kept prisoner. Set in the basement of the Temple, the cells were pleasantly cool, although they probably became chilly in the night. On Amaury's order, the guard opened one of the cells, and the key produced a sinister creak when it turned in the lock. The door was opened, revealing a dark cell, hardly lit up by the few, shy sunbeams that went through a narrow basement window.

Tahir was sitting on the ground, back against the stony wall, head bowed. He had been chained to the wall, but the shackles were long enough for him to move relatively freely. Whatever flaws Amaury de Biran might have, he did not mistreat his prisoners, Cadfael had to give him that. The manservant looked well-fed and reasonably clean, without any signs implying that he might have been tortured. That was actually a far more decent treatment than the monk would have expected for a man strongly suspected of murder.

"There you are," Amaury said. Was it slight irony that Cadfael heard in his voice? "He's all yours, Brother."

At the title of 'Brother', at last, the Saracen raised his head, and the monk was able to see his handsome face. Nothing seemed to blemish its perfection, not even a scar, although he most certainly was no stranger to the handling of weapons, for he did have one visible scar, fading and old, that started at the base of his neck and continued round his throat then down his collarbone. No emotion could be read in his impassive features, although the monk did notice the charcoal-black eyes flicker with... surprise? fear?

"Thank you, Commander," he said, then turned to face Tahir. "I assume you speak English?"

"My late master was an Englishman," the Saracen answered. His voice was deeper than Cadfael had expected, coming from a tall but thin man.

"Good," the monk replied. He did not yet trust his meager skills in the Saracen language enough to conduct a questioning in that tongue. "I have a few questions, and it would be helpful if you would answer."

Tahir remained impassive, but his voice was bitter. "Do I have any choice?"

Cadfael stared at him, his blue gaze set on the Saracen's dark eyes. "Yes, you do. But if you are innocent, then it is in your best interest to cooperate."

This time, the other man could not hide his surprise. Judging that the monk had sufficiently mollified the prisoner, Hugh stepped in at that moment. "We need you to tell us everything that happened on the day Lord Thornbury was killed. Each and every detail might be important, no matter how trivial it may seem, so please be thorough."

Amaury just leaned back against the wall without a word, letting them lead the questioning as they saw fit, clearly enjoying himself.

"So you can condemn me?" Tahir sneered. "Better to stay silent than to see my words interpreted against me."

"We do not seek to simply convict the most convenient culprit and be done with it," Hugh replied evenly. "We want justice, not a scapegoat. Of course, you don't have to believe us. Then again, what do you have to lose?"

The Saracen stared hard at him for a moment, then shrugged. "I suppose you are right, indeed... then I shall tell you what I know. Master Antony was particularly testy, that day. He looked... it's hard to say. As though he expected, yet feared something at the same time. He had had a very restless night, and had gone to bed late. In the morning, he ordered me to saddle his horse and a donkey for myself. Then we left in direction of the east, Master Antony seemed to know where he was going. He was silent all the time, much more so than usual, so I did not speak either."

Tahir's voice was completely emotionless as he spoke of Thornbury, although there was a slight tremor in his voice as he said the word 'master'. It obviously did not come naturally to his lips, and Cadfael wondered how such a proud man had come to accept the position of a manservant. He knew that most Saracens would prefer death, when possible, to serving a Christian man.

"And then?" Hugh urged the prisoner.

Cadfael suspected that his friend had a lot more questions to ask, but he preferred to wait until Tahir was done telling his story.

"Then, early in the afternoon, he stopped, and he told me to wait for him. I stayed there for a very long time..."

"How long exactly?" Cadfael interrupted.

The Saracen glanced at him. "Hard to say. Perhaps two hours. I thought Master Antony might have had an accident, or been injured for any reason, so I went after him. I found him, about half an hour later, dead."

"How had he been killed?" Hugh enquired softly.

"As far as I could tell, a blow to the heart, or perhaps the lungs - he had blood in his mouth."

"Hmm..." Beringar rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then continued. "Your master, did he treat you well? Did you have any reason to complain?"

Tahir's features hardened. "He treated me fairly," he said reluctantly.

"But?" Hugh encouraged him.

The shade of a smile made the Saracen's lips twitch. "A servant will always be but a servant."

Beringar narrowed his eyes. "I see," he said evenly. "To your knowledge, did he have enemies?"

"Who doesn't?" Tahir shrugged.

"Quite true," Amaury commented from the threshold. "I myself was not on very good terms with Thornbury. I do not speak ill of the dead, but I still have to say that he could bear somebody a grudge for _decades_, over the most petty things."

"You seem to have known him well," Cadfael observed casually.

A shade of pain shimmered in the acting Commander's eyes, and both the monk and Hugh caught it, although neither of them said anything. "I've known him for some time, yes," Biran admitted, then scowled a little and pointed at the Saracen. "Who is it you're questioning, him or me?"

Hugh grinned in answer and looked back at Tahir. "Do you know of anyone else who held a grudge against your master?"

"Half the town," the Saracen sniggered. "And the other half adored him. He was like that. You had to either thoroughly hate him, or love him, but no in-betweens."

"No one in particular?" Hugh insisted.

"Not that I know of. Except, perhaps..." Tahir trailed off, hesitating.

"Well? Speak up, man!" Amaury exclaimed impatiently.

"There is this Knight Hospitaller, my master quarrelled with him almost daily," the Saracen explained. "I think Master Antony had more arguments with him than with the rest of the town altogether."

Hugh and Cadfael shared a glance. A Hospitaller? Fate, for once, seemed to be on their side, for at least they would not have to go far looking for this other suspect.

"His name?" the monk asked, much more gently than the acting Commander.

"I don't know," Tahir admitted.

Hugh frowned. "What do you mean, you don't know? You just said Thornbury and him argued daily! Certainly you must know what he is called, even if only his first name?"

A mocking gleam lit up in the manservant's black eyes, and Cadfael had a feeling that if he had dared, he would have smiled smugly. "All I ever heard my master call him was 'this annoying bastard', or 'this damned knight', or 'that half-wit', or..."

"Yes, thank you, I think we got the drill," Amaury cut dryly. He gazed at his two guests. "Well, was it all you wanted to ask, my friends?"

"Just one more thing," Cadfael said, inwardly thinking that the Templar was suddenly very eager to get rid of them. Perhaps the entertainment they had provided him with was beginning to fade. "What did this Hospitaller look like?"

Tahir thought about it for a moment, then pointed at Hugh. "About _his _height, perhaps an inch taller, with dark blond hair and grey eyes. In his late thirties, early fourties, I believe. And he has a thin scar across his nose and cheekbone."

At least, the man would not be too hard to spot, if the King's two envoys ever happened to meet him. But it was not much, in any case; the description of one among the numerous men, it seemed, who disliked the dead man. Daily arguments were no sufficient reason to kill Thornbury, or so Cadfael assumed. After all, _he _argued with Hugh... from time to time... and he had... never... well, perhaps once. Or twice. But it was not like he would ever really do it.

Having gotten all they could from Tahir, for the moment, they stepped out of the cell, followed by Amaury and the Saracen's thoughtful gaze. Behind them, the guard closed the door once again and stowed the key at his belt, before going back to his normal duties when Biran dismissed him. The Templar then turned towards his guests.

"Well, you have seen the manservant, and I must get back to my paperwork. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"Actually..." Cadfael began, ignoring the flicker of annoyance in Amaury's dark eyes, "I think it would be very helpful if we could see the body?"

The acting Commander seemed to consider. "Oh - well, I suppose there is no reason why you shouldn't. We waited a bit longer than usual before burying him, since it was a murder and Thornbury had no kin in the Holy Land... we were not sure whether he would have rathered be buried in England. I have to warn you, though. With such a weather as we have here..."

The monk got the hint, but merely smiled. "Oh, don't worry. It won't be the first time."

"If you say so," Amaury murmurred, clearly not convinced but determined to let them learn by their own mistakes. "That way, then. We keep him down here because it is cooler."

He led them to yet another cell - the one that was furthest from the entrance to the basement. The reason why the corpse had been put there and not anywhere else became more and more obvious as the three men came closer. The smell was simply disgusting. Amaury stopped a half-dozen yards before the door.

"Last cell on your left," he said. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I... uh... have some paperwork to attend to. Just let me know when you are done."

With that he left, visibly attempting to pretend that no, he did not need to breathe every once in a while, and failing miserably. Cadfael could not blame him; he was trying to breathe through his mouth as much as possible, and Hugh looked a bit green. Yet, there was no helping it, so after sharing a glance and a rueful shrug, the two friends walked forward to the cell where the body was kept.

"How about you examine him and then we go somewhere else to discuss whatever you find ?" Hugh suggested through clenched teeth. "I'd rather not speak anymore if not absolutely necessary."

"Hum, yes, I..." Cadfael had to close his eyes for a second before he was able to continue. "...I tend to agree."

He came closer to the body. It was not the first time he was in the presence of a murder victim, but usually the deed had been committed too recently or too long ago for the smell to really be too much of an annoyance. However, after a few minutes, he somehow got used to it and was able to focus on the task at hand. As usual, he was as thorough and methodical as possible, examining the nails, the hair, the various wounds on Thornbury's body, up to the dirt on his clothes. He also noticed a small golden medallion around his neck, and looked closely at it before releasing it. When he was done at last, he nodded to his friend and they walked outside. Leaving was a great relief, and it was not long before Beringar's curiosity got the better of him.

"Well?" he enquired. "What have you found?"

Amused, the monk glanced at him. "How do you know I even found something?"

Hugh grinned. "You _always _find something. You would not be so cruel as to let me die of curiosity, would you?"

"Don't tempt me," Cadfael murmured, then relented. "But Christian mercy demands that I take you out of your misery. First thing I can tell you is, he was killed with a narrow blade, straight, not curved."

Beringar raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "I don't understand how..." he began.

"Simple," the monk explained. "I thought he might have been killed by Saracen raiders who came closer to Jerusalem than it is usual. After all, our Templar friend did mention that there had been much tension of late, in the vicinity. It would not be so surprising. Only, that wound to Thornbury's lungs was not made by a Scimitar, I can assure you of that."

"So that option is ruled out," Hugh concluded. "Which means there really was a murder."

"Indeed," Cadfael conceded. "It also means that there was most likely only one murderer, or someone who had enough of a sense of honour to fight with him one on one. Which would seem rather strange for a murderer, don't you think?"

His friend looked intrigued. "How do you come to this conclusion?"

"I noticed, as you did too no doubt, several minor wounds on Thornbury's body. I have seen that kind of scratches quite often, they are very much like the ones you had after your fight with Courcelle."

"Yes, I see what you mean," Beringar nodded slowly. "When sparring, one always ends up with a scratch or two."

"Exactly," Cadfael concurred. "The only explanation that I can think of is that Thornbury had the possibility to defend himself. He fought with his attacker for some time before he lost, and that is how he got these scratches. He would never have been able to put up such a fight, I think, if his attackers had outnumbered him."

"But so far, there is no evidence that would rule Tahir out as a potential culprit. Except perhaps that Tahir, as Thornbury's manservant, would have had many occasions to kill him without taking any risks. Although I still don't understand why he would do it."

But Cadfael shook his head. "I doubt it. Most Saracens have a very keen sense of honour. Tahir would certainly have chosen a fair fight, if he had decided to kill his master. And he had all the reasons in the world to wish for Thornbury's death."

Beringar frowned. "I don't understand."

The Benedictine smiled ruefully. "That's because you don't know the Christian customs in the Holy Land. When a Christian Knight has a Saracen manservant, it is just a fancy way of saying that he has a slave. But since the Pope is not in favour of slavery, and the Christians here are supposed to fight under His Holiness' banner..."

"So Tahir was something like Thornbury's property? Yes, I can understand why he would not mourn his master's death..." Hugh sighed. "Well, perhaps he _is _guilty, after all. What do we know about him?"

"I can't quite believe that," Cadfael replied adamantly. "It doesn't make sense. Why would he come back after committing murder, when all he can hope for under Christian rule is servitude? He could have gone back to his people and been free."

"The problem is that none of this makes any sense," Beringar complained. "Why would he come back, whether he killed his master or not, after he discovered the body? He had to know he would be accused of the deed."

"I don't know..." the monk sighed ruefully. "What I'd like to know as well is how a man such as Tahir ended up as Thornbury's servant. He seems intelligent and educated, but if he is from a noble family, then why would they not pay his ransom?"

"For my sake, Brother, no more questions!" Hugh exclaimed. "We have more than enough already, and without an answer to any of them."

While speaking, they had climbed the stairs back up to the ground floor, where they found a young man, clad in a Templar sergeant's black outfit, waiting for them.

"My lord Beringar, Brother Cadfael," he said formally, not bothering to ask confirmation of their identity - who else could they be? "I am Brother sergeant André."

Another Frenchman, the monk thought. Were there only French people in the Templar order?

"Commander Amaury de Biran asked me to show you the way, and tell you that if you have other questions you shall have to come back tomorrow, for he does not have time now."

"Please thank him on our behalf," Hugh replied, "and tell him we shall certainly come back if need be."

The young man nodded, then quickly brought them to the door. It was quite late already, both Beringar and Cadfael realized with some surprise. They had not been aware that they had spent so much time down in the cells, yet night had almost fallen and the moon was rising in the sky. But as they were ushered out, neither of the two men noticed a man, clad in a Templar's white mantle, who watched them with his hawk-like eyes.

"Was it me," asked Cadfael when they found themselves alone in the street, "or were they really eager to get rid of us?"

"If it was you, then it was me as well," Hugh replied with a frown. "Yet the acting Commander was helpful enough while we were there. A secret Templar custom they did not want us to see, perhaps?"

"Hmmm," the Benedictine conceded, all the events of the day twirling in his mind.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he did not see the dark, shrunken figure of a beggar, coiled in a thick but dirty woollen blanket and seated against a wall, nor the shape of the long walking stick that lay by his side. Of course, there could be only one outcome to such circumstances; the monk tripped on the walking stick and would have fallen, had Hugh not caught his arm at the last minute.

"Are you all right?" Beringar enquired, torn between concern and mirth.

"Oh, yes," Cadfael answered quickly, then glanced at the sitting man. "Are you?"

The beggar raised his head, and when the monk saw his face he could not help but shrink slightly back in surprise. That man was a Saracen - yet another one - and he probably had been handsome in his youth, but now his features were covered in scars, and his nose had been broken at least twice. Yet, there was some kind of harmony in his countenance, as though the man radiated a dignity and inward peace that could never be blemished, not even by the worst wounds. He appeared to be in his early fifties, as far as Cadfael could tell.

"It is kind of you to ask," the old man muttered. "But nothing can really hurt old Imrahim anymore, you know." He had a hollow laugh that send a shiver down the Benedictine's back, and added a few words in Saracen that Cadfael did not understand.

"In any case, please accept our apologies," Hugh said, and he gave the old man a coin.

Imrahim took the coin, glanced at it, then chuckled to himself. "So kind," he mumbled. "But that is all I have left, is it not?"

Somewhat taken aback, Beringar blinked, then shrugged. If the Saracen beggar had gone out of his mind, it was none of their business, and they had done their Christian duty by giving him alms.

"Well, erm. Goodbye, then," Cadfael concluded, and they left the muttering beggar behind them as they walked quickly back to St. John.

Naturally, the gates were still open, but unfortunately the supper was over by then. Yet, the kitchens were always accessible to anyone, so the two friends would definitely not starve. When they entered the kitchens, however, the found they were not the only ones to be late for the evening meal. A Knight Hospitaller with dark blond hair, in his early forties perhaps, was already there, heartily cutting a slice of bread with his dagger.

"Come in, come in!" he called when he saw the two newcomers. "There is enough food for everybody here."

"Well - thank you," Cadfael replied as he followed the Knight's advice and went to sit on the other bench, in front of the blond man. Hugh followed his lead, visibly appraising their host.

"Here, have a slice of bread!" the Knight offered genially. "I am Brother Knight Blaine of Tyrensome, by the way."

Cadfael was half-seated at that point, but he got back on his feet so fast that he nearly pushed the bench over, staring eyes wide at the Knight. Behind him, he could almost feel Hugh's stare, but for the moment he could not have cared less.

"Cadfael?" his friend insisted.

This time, it was Brother Knight Blaine's time to drop his slice of bread and his dagger. "Cadfael?" he repeated, incredulous. "That you?! That darn annoying Welsh sermoniser?!"


	6. Old Memories

**Chapter 6**

After staring wide-eyed at each other for a few seconds, both Cadfael and Blaine realized how ridiculous they probably looked, and they tried to regain their composure. It was easier said than done, though. No matter how much he tried, Cadfael did not recognize in the Hospitaller Knight the young man he had left behind him when he had gone back to England, twenty-five years ago; and judging from his stunned expression, Blaine felt the same way. Eventually, Hugh cleared his throat in a rather ostentatious manner, and Cadfael came back to his senses.

"I... did not quite expect to find you here," he finally said, lamely, as he sat back on the bench - his wobbling legs would have betrayed him otherwise.

"I can say the same," Blaine replied, a wide grin spreading on his lips. "And a monk! God knows I did not imagine... By the way, who's your friend?"

"I believe that's my line," Hugh commented as he came to sit beside Cadfael. "Who's your friend?"

The monk chuckled, all weariness forgotten. "Sir Blaine of Tyrensome, meet Lord Hugh Beringar of Maesbury. I met Blaine a little over a year before I left the Holy Land."

"And quite an encounter it was!" the Hospitaller agreed cheerfully. "My ship was attacked by pirates, and we thought our last hour had come, when Cadfael and his comrades arrived and very neatly boarded us to help push the pirates back. A beautiful fight, it was."

"You say that _now_," Cadfael sniggered. "But at the time, you had a good fright, lad."

"He calls me lad!" Blaine exclaimed theatrically. "And I am forty-five! How old does that make you, Brother? Ha, a monk! I would never have believed it. I'm still not sure whether I should trust my sight on this matter! Are you certain it's you?"

Cadfael looked heavenwards. "I have no twin brother. That I know of, in any case. So I think it would be quite safe to assume it is indeed me."

Blaine seized a pitcher full of wine and poured a glass for each of them, still grinning from ear to ear. He appeared to be a very friendly and animated fellow, just like the boy Cadfael remembered, although he probably had been through a lot in the last two decades. His cheerful behaviour suited a man whose motto was undoubtedly _carpe diem_, one who would devour life at forty-five just like he had at twenty. Yet, although his demeanour was the same, apart from that he was very much changed, and it was not surprising that Cadfael had not remembered him at first. He had left but a child, and the man he had in front of him was a battered warrior, wise with experience.

His appearance was different as well - that was to be expected, yet Cadfael found himself staring at the streaks of grey in Blaine's longish blond hair, the small wrinkles at the corner of his eyes and mouth, the thin scar across his cheekbone, and as much as he tried to compare these features to the ones he remembered, he found his memory lacking. In spite of all that, he could not help but still feel fatherly affection for the Knight Hospitaller.

"...and you must tell me what happened to you during all these years!" Blaine was saying, but Cadfael hardly heard him at all.

The scene felt somewhat surreal, as though the Welshman's departure from the Holy Land had been but a dream and these twenty-five years had never happened. The old monk had disappeared, leaving a young soldier in his place, and the problem was that Cadfael was not sure he knew how to deal with this change.

Then he realized that his two friends were looking at him expectantly, probably waiting for an answer, and he dismissed his doubts for the time being. "Excuse me," he said apologetically. "You were saying?"

The two younger men exchanged a glance, but Blaine's laugh dispelled the uneasiness that was beginning to settle. "You should have told me, Lord Beringar, that he was getting senile in his old days!"

"Old? I'm not old!" Cadfael bristled, for form's sake. "Just, hum, experienced, young man!"

"Uuuh, whatever you say," the Hospitaller sniggered. "So, I was asking, what pushed you to take the cowl? I bet it was a woman. It's always a woman. If that was enough for you to leave Maryam, she must have been pretty, your English bride!"

The monk thought wistfully of Richildis, and of what had not happened between them. He had been unfair to her, yet in the end he did not have any regrets. Celibacy suited him, and he was not certain their attraction to each other would have survived two decades of marriage. Even though she had waited for him longer than could honestly be expected of her, in the end he knew she had found happiness.

"It's a long story," he finally said, "but I can assure you there was no woman involved in my decision."

Blaine glanced at Hugh. "Pray tell, Lord Beringar, is our old friend saying the truth?"

Hugh smiled. "I am afraid I have not known Cadfael long enough to know the answer. Although, knowing this headstrong fellow as I do, I can tell I doubt very much anyone would have enough influence on him to push him that far."

The monk stared at his two friends in mock betrayal. "What, is that a conspiracy? Besides, there is nothing much to tell. I just felt it was time to move on with my life. Monastic life suits me, if you have to know. I can brew my medicines, help people and live peacefully. A good way to end a life of battles and travels, I think."

"Indeed," Blaine concurred. "Besides, I could hardly criticize your choice, since I am a Brother too, technically. We do have monastic rules, even though we are a fighting order. Well, at least the rules are less strict than the Templars'."

"Oh, yes - I remember, now," Cadfael exclaimed. "You were hesitating between the Templars and the Hospitallers, when I left. I see you finally made your choice."

"And the right one, I think," the Knight nodded, chewing thoughtfully his bread. "The Templars were somewhat more appealing to the lad I was, but too much of a regular army for me."

The monk nodded, then broke into a yawn, before looking sheepishly at his two friends. "Well, I don't know about you, but my bed seem very appealing right now."

"I quite agree," Blaine sighed. "I have training at dawn tomorrow. It was nice talking to you, Cadfael. Are you staying long?"

"A few days at least," the Welshman replied. "We're here about the murder of Antony of Thornbury. I don't suppose you know anything about it that could be of help?"

"So you still use that analytical mind of yours," the Hospitaller remarked. "Although that's a long way to the Holy Land just to solve a murder... was Thornbury a friend of yours? I suppose not. The man was insufferable, although it _was _entertaining to argue with him."

"It's a long story," Cadfael sighed. "One better suited for tomorrow evening, I think."

"Did you argue a lot with Thornbury?" Hugh enquired, raising an eyebrow.

Blaine stared at him for a second, then burst out laughing. "That I did! Each and every time I met him. This annoying, stupid, narrow-minded... hem, never mind that. But don't you try to make me your murderer! I can assure you, no matter how many times I wished Thornbury to have a dreadful accident, I never did anything to help fate. I am, after all, interested in the salvation of my soul."

"But you'll understand I had to ask," Beringar shrugged.

"Sure," the Hospitaller snorted. "Anyway, ask anyone around here, they'll tell you I'd never have done it."

"Far be it from my mind to suspect you," Cadfael assured him, ignoring the dubious glance Hugh cast him. He broke into another yawn, followed by his two friends, and the three exchanged sheepish grins.

"Well, see you tomorrow," Blaine announced as he stood and made for the door.

Hugh and Cadfael watched him leave, and found themselves alone in the kitchen. Beringar emptied his glass with a last gulp, and the monk finished his slice of bread. They did not say a word for a little while, before Hugh broke the silence.

"So, we agree on the fact that we can't leave until we know for sure who the murderer is. The question is, what is our next step?"

Cadfael gave his friend a sharp glance - as sharp a glance as he could muster at this late hour, at any rate. "I am quite certain you already have an idea in mind, do you not?"

Amused by the monk's insight, Beringar leant slightly back. "Why, yes, I must confess I do."

"The first thing to do would probably be to ask around about Lord Thornbury," Cadfael said. "He stayed here a long time, and he was well known, from what his manservant said."

"Yes, about that," Hugh said with a sidelong glance to his friend. "The Hospitaller Tahir told us about..."

"I suppose you mean it's Blaine."

"The description does fit."

"But it doesn't mean he is the murderer," Cadfael protested heartily.

Beringar raised an appeasing hand. "I never said it _is _him. Just that we can't quite rule it out. Until we find further evidence, that is."

The monk frowned, but said nothing. No matter how much he would have liked to contradict his friend, it was true that he could not prove Blaine's innocence. He _knew _that it could not be him who had murdered Thornbury; but his certainty was worthless as long as he did not have evidence to back his assertions up.

"It is too late to debate about that," he finally concluded. "I for one am going to bed."

The following morning found Cadfael up at dawn. He dressed silently, groping for his clothes in the darkness of the early hours, and left his room. He checked quickly that Hugh was still asleep, and, satisfied, headed to the kitchen where he was reasonably certain to find the man he was looking for. And sure enough, Blaine was there, tranquilly eating a meager meal before training. Cadfael slid on the bench in front of his old friend, and helped himself to some water - it was a little too early to drink wine.

Blaine glanced at him curiously. "I did not expect to see you so early."

"We'll probably be out all day," Cadfael explained, "and I wanted to talk to you."

The Hospitaller rested his chin on the palm of his right hand with a sardonic smile. "I see that your friend is not with you."

"He's still asleep," the monk shrugged a bit uneasily. Of course he had deliberately chosen to go and see Blaine when Hugh was not with him, and he should have expected his Knight friend to guess that right away.

"So what is it you wanted to tell me?" Blaine went on, when it became clear that Cadfael was not going to say anything.

"Hmm? Oh, right. I..." Cadfael hesitated. He had been restless all night, thinking about what he wanted... no, what he needed to ask his old friend, and now that the time had come, he did not find the words to express his concern. Cursing inwardly, he finally simply said it with blunt words, knowing Blaine would understand. "You mentioned Maryam, yesterday. What happened to her, after I..."

"After you left?" Blaine said, unknowingly distorting the monk's thoughts. "Sure, I met with her a few times. Did you..." at that point, the Knight hesitated slightly. "Did you receive my message?" he finally asked prudently.

"Message?" Cadfael frowned. "What message?"

"You... you did not receive it, then," Blaine sighed. "I sure wondered when you sent no reply, but I thought you did not want to hear about it, so..."

A dreadful feeling began to build in Cadfael's chest, and his throat tightened painfully. He wished Blaine would just say it and be done with it, but the Hospitaller was obviously trying to word it tactfully, although he actually made it worse.

"So what?" the monk snapped impatiently, less nicely than he had intended. "Sorry," he said immediately. "I did not mean to..."

"No, it's all right," Blaine cut him. "It's just that, I thought you knew, and..."

"You thought I knew what?"

The Knight looked down and, very quickly, confessed in a whisper. "Maryam had a child, a few month after you left. Your son."

Blaine had probably expected Cadfael to be angry, or at least upset, and thus seeing his friend burst out laughing was understandably surprising for him.

"I already knew that," the Benedictine admitted when he caught his breath. "Good Lord, what a relief! The way you beat around the bushes, I thought it had to be a horrible thing to hear!"

"You... you knew?" the Hospitaller gaped. "But how... you said you did not receive my message!"

"And I did not," Cadfael assured him. "But I met with Olivier already, and... well, through what he told me of his background, I was able to find out about him."

"Oh..." a mixture of surprise and relief dangled in Blaine's grey eyes, but it soon switched to mischievousness. "I take it you were satisfied with what you saw, then?"

"More than satisfied!" Cadfael could not help but grin, as he did each time his son's worthiness was mentioned in front of him.

"Well, after you left, Maryam was on her own. She had a living, with the inn, and I gave her a hand from time to time, especially after Daoud - I mean, Olivier, was born. She asked me to help, actually and I found myself on baby-sitting duty more often than not. But it was not a problem, Olivier was a sweet child. When he grew up, I taught him a few tricks with a sword..."

The monk bit his lip, feeling as though Blaine was pouring salt on the wound. Even though he knew better than that, he could not help but feel a tingling jealousy when he thought that Blaine had taken a greater part in his son's upbringing than himself.

"Well, I am grateful that Olivier at least had a father figure in his life," Cadfael managed to say. But he did not sound totally convincing, and both he and the Knight Hospitaller realized it. The monk frowned; he had not often felt the need to muster his feelings. "Thank you for taking good care of him," he managed, and this time he did sound sincere.

"I have only part of the credit," Blaine shrugged. "Thornbury found him a position as a squire, and then he left for England with his protector. The rest, he owes to no one but himself."

"Thornbury?" Cadfael blinked. "But I thought you hated each other?"

The Knight chuckled. "Well, there was one thing on which we agreed, and that's Olivier. Your son has this way with people, just like you do. Oh, we argued no less with each other, but we both wanted to see Olivier thrive as he deserved to. It was a bit sad to see him leave for England, but I am certain he fares well."

"Yes, he does..." the Benedictine murmured thoughtfully. "I owe Lord Thornbury, it seems. And there is only one way I can repay him, now."

"Oh, well." Blaine scratched his head. "Yes, it seems. Don't worry, Cadfael. I mean, Brother. If anyone can find the murderer, it's you."

At that point, their conversation was interrupted by a sleepy Hugh Beringar, who came into the kitchen with a yawn.

"Already up?" Cadfael asked innocently.

Hugh gave him a mock glare. "I was awoken by some racket, and I thought there was a battle going on outside, but then I realized that it was just our hosts' training. And here I though the Benedictines were early risers."

Truth to tell, it was past dawn but still very early. Hugh was by no means a sound sleeper, but no matter how early he rose, Cadfael was usually up before him, and it had become something of a joke between them.

"Training!" Blaine mumbled, horrified. "I forgot training! Brother Knight Gary is going to _kill _me!"

He rose to his feet, fumbling to retrieve his weapons and shield, and he pattered as quickly as he could to the door, waiting just long enough to take his leave more or less politely. Hugh raised an amused eyebrow, then took a seat to have something to eat. Cadfael handed him the pitcher and bread.

"By the way," Beringar said as he began to cut off a slice of bread, "I thought of something last night."

"Really?" the monk commented, someone mockingly. Hugh cast him a sidelong glance and snorted.

"Yes, Brother, I do think every once in a while."

Cadfael muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'could have fooled me', although it was not quite loud enough for Beringar to be certain of it, so he just dropped the matter and resumed his line of thought.

"See, yesterday, you said that Thornbury was killed with a straight blade - in other words, by a Christian sword. But what became of it?"

Half-opening his mouth, the monk reconsidered and blinked. "What?"

"The weapon," Hugh repeated patiently. "The sword that was used to kill Thornbury. What happened to it, do you think?"

"I have no idea..." Cadfael murmured. He had not thought of that, but finding the weapon might bring them much closer to finding the murderer. How could he had overlooked such an important detail! He had been so disturbed by his unexpected encounter with an old friend, entangled in old memories, that he had barely given a thought to the murder they were supposed to clear up.

"I think we should go and have a look at where Thornbury was killed. He had to have a reason to go there, and if we find that reason, we might discover the motive for this crime. Plus the weapon that killed our man might still be there - it's worth a try, in any case," Hugh continued.

Cadfael nodded dumbly, somewhat put out of contenance. For once, Hugh was ahead of him in his line of thought, and the monk was overtaken by everything that had happened since they had arrived in the Holy Land. He had known it would be strange to walk once again in the foreign yet familiar Kingdom of Jerusalem, but nothing could have prepared him to this cascade of memories and to all the ghosts arising from his past.

"...fael? Cadfael?!"

Blinking, he raised his gaze to meet Hugh's dark eyes, filled with concern.

"Are you all right?"

"Uh, yes. Yes, of course," the monk replied quickly.

"I mean it. Are you sure?" Beringar insisted softly, and Cadfael could not help but smile, knowing that he could trust his friend to be by his side, no matter what. It was a comforting thought.

"Yes," he murmured. "I'm fine. Old memories, you know what it's like." Then he eyed his friend critically. "Or perhaps you don't, young man."

That drew a soft laugh from Hugh. "There comes back my rare and grouchy Benedictine. Now, what do you think of my suggestions for the day? That is, if you listened to a single word I said, of course." He arched an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Of course I did!" Cadfael protested, pretending to coil in wounded dignity. "Yes, let's have a look at where the murder took place. Even if the sword that killed Thornbury is not there, we might discover other clues. But how do you intend to find the place? In the desert, everything looks the same."

"It won't be a problem," Beringar replied, sounding a bit surprised that the monk would even ask. "We'll just ask Amaury de Biran, since he was in charge of this whole affair. He must know where the body was found."

"Well - yes, I suppose yes. Let's go to the Temple Mount, then."


	7. New Clues

**Chapter 7**

This early in the morning, the ride to the Temple Mount was quite pleasant. The sky was clear, which foretold a very warm day, but the coolness of the night still lingered outside. After a while, Hugh and Cadfael reached the Temple, and this time the sergeant guarding the gate did not oppose their request to see the Commander - he had probably been given orders to let them in. However, he still called for an escort; obviously, the Templars did not want guests roaming in their headquarters without anyone to keep an eye on them. Hugh and Cadfael were led through the same corridors as the day before, and invited to enter the same untidy office that was Amaury de Biran's lair. If possible, it was in an even worse state than the day before, with rolls of parchments scattered everywhere, even on the ground. Cadfael's scholarly heart protested inwardly when he saw how such precious documents were so flippantly taken care of. Yet, the whole mess looked strangely homely, although Cadfael suspected nobody but Amaury himself was able to find anything in the room. Perhaps it was the way it was intended.

"Brother, my lord," the Templar said with a pleasant smile, and much more warmly than the last time they had seen him. "How may I be of assistance?"

"Captain," Hugh nodded back politely. "We'd like to have a look at the place where Thornbury died. It might help us figure out what happened."

A shadow crept on Amaury's features, but it was understandable, Cadfael thought. As acting commander, he had to bear a lot of pressure, and if someone else solved a murder that was committed under his very nose, it would probably not look good. In any case, the Templar managed to hide his reluctance, and replied very politely.

"Certainly, if you think it might be useful. After all, we all want to see this murderer punished, the sooner the better. But I still don't see how I may be of help."

"We hoped you could help us find the exact spot," Cadfael explained. "Everywhere looks the same in the desert, especially to newcomers like the two of us."

For a second, Amaury seemed torn by an inner struggle, but the next moment he mustered a smile. "Naturally. Well, let's see... there is sergeant Mathieu, who helped bring back the body. He certainly can show you the place, and he'll find it easily enough - he's been over five years in this country. He doesn't speak English very well, but I suppose you won't mind very much."

"No matter," Hugh replied. "My French is a little rusty, but it should be more than enough."

"All right then," Amaury said, and he walked to the door and opened it. The two visitors' escort was still waiting in the corridor, and hastily entered when the acting commander called him in.

The sergeant was impressively tall, at least six feet and three or four inches, and he towered over the three other men, who were all rather short. It made Mathieu look even taller in contrast, but in spite of his height he was thin and walked like a cat. A mane of light brown hair fell on his shoulders and shadowed two dull blue eyes. For some reason, Mathieu looked rather unhappy. Truth to tell, at first glance he looked like a rather boring fellow, although Cadfael had long learnt not to assess people based solely on their appearance.

Amaury gave a few sharp orders in French, and Cadfael wished Hugh would not have bragged about his mastery of the French language. It was always interesting to hear what a man would say when he thought nobody would understand him, but it was too late for that. In any case, the sergeant nodded obediently and remained standing at attention, waiting for a dismissal.

"He'll take you to the place," Amaury said. "You'll just have to follow him. I hope you have horses of your own, because it's over an hour from the town. I'd lend you some of ours, but I'm not allowed to."

Cadfael shook his head. "That's not a problem," he said. "We brought our own horses, left them at the gates of the Temple."

"It's not very prudent of you," Amaury commented. "Anyone might steal them."

"They wouldn't dare," Hugh observed. "Not in front of a sergeant of the Templars."

The acting commander scowled noticeably. "My sergeant is at the door of the Temple to guard it," he replied dryly. "Not to keep an eye on everyone's horses."

Beringar half opened his mouth, then shrugged. "My apologies," he said. "I did not mean it like that."

"I know," Biran replied grouchily. "Perhaps you should go before it's too hot outside."

The dismissal was clear, and anyway Hugh and Cadfael had obtained what they had come for, so they did not protest and took their leave gracefully, followed by their guide. Mathieu signalled with his hands that he was going to fetch his horse, and a few moments later he was back with a chestnut mare. Cadfael climbed on his own black mare, which had not been stolen, Hugh mounted his stallion, and the three men were ready to go. Mathieu took the lead, and they took a large road, passed in front of the Moriah temple, crossed Jehoshaphat's Gate, and headed east. Quickly, it became apparent that Mathieu's company was as tedious as Cadfael had surmised, and the language barrier could not be held entirely accountable for that. After a few attempts on Hugh's part to speak with the sergeant, and as many monosyllabic answers, Beringar gave up and he and Cadfael began to talk quietly, ignoring Mathieu for the most part.

"Amaury de Biran is rather helpful," Hugh observed. "I thought we would have to put up more of a fight to get him to help us, but I didn't even have to show him the King's letters. Not that it would have been of help, since, as Peter of Blythe pointed out, the Templars don't take orders from the King."

Cadfael shrugged. "Perhaps he wants this murder case solved before the actual commander comes back. It's not very lucky for him that the murder took place while he was in charge."

"A strange coincidence, you might say," Beringar pointed out off-handedly, and the monk gave him a sidelong glance.

"You are not suggesting commander Evrard des Barres might have anything to do with this murder, do you?"

"You said it. I am not suggesting anything. Just commenting."

"Hmm," Cadfael muttered distrustfully. "Besides, if the actual commander had anything to do with this murder, he would have stayed here to make sure no one found out about it, don't you think?"

"Who said a murderer is always someone clever?" Hugh retorted shrewdly. "That being said, I don't think we should start accusing anyone before we have some more evidence to back up our assertions."

The monk nodded. "I quite agree. However..." he trailed off, lost in thoughts, until Hugh cleared his throat rather loudly, making him jump.

"However?" Beringar prompted.

Scratching his head, Cadfael shrugged. "Nothing. It's just that, well, don't you find it a little strange that Thornbury would be murdered just ten days before we came to ask him to pick a side in the war?"

Hugh's eyes widened slightly when he caught all the implications of what Cadfael had just said. "You mean it might be the doing of the Empress' men?"

"How would I know?" Cadfael retorted testily, then sighed. "I'm sorry. It's just... we have very few clues. Thornbury's death might very well have nothing to do with the Empress. Perhaps he was killed by highwaymen, who knows?"

"I doubt it," his friend protested. "Remember, he told Tahir to wait for him while he went forward. He had a purpose going out of Jerusalem, and when we find that purpose, we are likely to find the murderer."

"In any case, I doubt the murderer's weapon will just be laying on the ground waiting for us to find it," the monk said dispiritedly.

Hugh smiled and clapped his friend on the back. "Don't give up before we even tried. We'll do our best, and if we fail then it will mean God did not want us to succeed."

Cadfael smiled back, feeling a little better. His friend's spirit always cheered him up, no matter what, and the rest of the journey went without further mention of the murder, although both men were inwardly speculating on the matter at hand. They at least pretended to forget about it, until Mathieu signaled that they had arrived.

Wondering how he knew it was there, Cadfael looked all around him. Nothing looked much different from what they had seen in the last hour of riding, although they were now much closer to the mountains. It was the same desert scenery, the same dusty ground covered in stones and pebbles, its monotony hardly broken by a few rickety bushes, yet the sergeant seemed very sure of himself and was pointing insistently to a spot on the ground, blabbering in French.

"He says it's here they found the body," Hugh translated.

Cadfael dismounted and knelt near the spot, studying it intently. He was certain something was amiss, but it took him a few minutes before he pinpointed it.

"Something strange?" Hugh enquired.

"What?" the monk blinked, raising his head from over the ground.

A smile answered him. "You were staring at the ground, so I was wondering if you see anything I don't."

"No," Cadfael said slowly. "That's the whole matter, I suppose."

Beringar looked honestly puzzled at that.

"Nothing strikes you as surprising?" the monk insisted. "Think about it. Someone was murdered here. The Templars found the body laying here. We are here and we see nothing."

Hugh dismounted and came to take a closer look, seemingly taking the riddle as a challenge. After a little while, he took in a sharp breath. "Of course," he said in a low voice. "How could I have missed that... no blood. It's a little strange if you think someone bled to death on this very spot. But it was ten days ago..."

"We are talking about a huge quantity of blood," Cadfael reminded him. "Even after a few days, some of it should remain."

Thoughtful for a moment, Hugh eventually turned toward Mathieu and asked him a question in French. The sergeant looked a little surprised, then shrugged and answered tersely. Cadfael listened, but was not even able to tell where a word began and where it ended.

"What did you ask him?" he enquired after they were done talking.

"If it had been raining in the last ten days," Beringar explained.

"And?"

"No, so it seems your reasoning is sound. As to why there is no blood..."

"We know Thornbury died," Cadfael said, continuing their common reasoning out loud.

"So he had to bleed somewhere," Hugh nodded.

"Yet there is no blood here."

"So either Mathieu is mistaken..."

"...or Thornbury died somewhere else and was brought here only afterwards," Cadfael concluded.

"And only one person could have moved the body," Hugh added. "The murderer. But why would he do that?"

"I suppose it's the whole question," the monk sighed. "I don't know. Everywhere in this desert looks the same, so what would it change?"

"In any case, the body can't have been moved very far," Beringar observed. "Tahir said it was no more than two hours and a half between the moment Thornbury left him and the moment he found the corpse. Assuming he is not lying, of course."

"I doubt it. Why would he have come back if he had killed his master? He's too obvious a culprit for him to be the murderer."

"I agree," Hugh nodded, "but you'll need more than that to convince our dear friend Amaury."

Straightening up, Cadfael winced as his joints cracked. As young as he might feel in this magical land, he still was nearing sixty, and what his mind overlooked his body did not forget. Stiffling a groan, he stretched. "I suggest we take a look around," he said. "We can try to find the real place where Thornbury was killed. If Amaury didn't notice the incoherence of the lack of blood, he might not have checked that out, so we might find something he didn't."

"Since we're here, we can as well do that," Beringar agreed philosophically. "I'll tell Mathieu to wait here and not to move. He's probably not used to investigations, and I don't want him tramping around and possibly erasing traces. As much as there can be traces on this over-dry ground."

He said a few words in French, and the sergeant nodded grumpily, then the two friends began to look around. By then, the sun had risen high in the sky, and the temperature had increased dramatically, making the search all the more uncomfortable. Cadfael thought wistfully of his old abbey. It would soon be the summer, and the table of the brothers would be heavy with fresh fruits and vegetables. The fields would shine gold with ripe corn and oat... and suddenly, it struck the monk that he was nearing an age at which each summer might be the last, and he felt much older than ever before. He had always known that he would die someday, and he had thought he had come to terms with the idea. He had thought that, when the moment came, he would not be frightened, for he knew he would go back to his Creator; yet, at this very moment, he felt he liked life very much. Shaking his head, he tried to dispel those dark thoughts, and he was relieved when Hugh called him.

Grateful for the distraction, he walked to join his friend who, completely unaware of the monk's mournful mood, grinned at him as he gestured toward the rocky ground. Cadfael realized that, while wandering in their search, he and Hugh had come even closer to the mountains, almost at their very base, and the land was rugged. In his last steps, the monk had to be careful not to slide down the slope, with the pebbles rolling under his feet.

"Here, see?" Hugh said.

Indeed, several brown spots stained the rocks, and there was no questioning what it was. The two friends had seen enough dead men to recognize blood when they saw it. Cadfael immediately forgot all about his own impending death and bent over the spots with renewed interest. A man had died there, a man to whom he owed his son's happiness, and it was almost with reverence that he touched the rocks.

"It's not all," Hugh added.

"What else?" Then only did Cadfael notice that his friend was holding a sword in his hand, a Christian knight's weapon in all likelihood, for its blade was straight, its handle gilt and inlaid with jewels. It was without a shade of doubt worth a fortune. "May I?"

His friend handed him the sword, and the monk began to study it closely. It had served a lot, judging from the minute nicks on the blade and hilt, but it had been lovingly taken care of, which made the abandoning of the weapon all the more surprising. "I don't understand," Cadfael said. "Why leave this weapon behind, when it could only charge its owner? It's worth a great deal of money, at that. It's just not logical."

"What I wonder, for one, is why there is almost no blood on the blade," Beringar replied.

"The murderer could have wiped the blood," Cadfael suggested.

"Why take the trouble to clean the sword and then leave it behind?" his friend protested. "Besides, if he cleaned it, he did not make a very good job at it." He pointed at the brown smears on the edge of the blade.

The monk shrugged. "Well, I don't know. In any case, it will help us to discover who that sword belonged to. I suppose we have found everything there was to find, so let's get back to town, what do you say?"

"Agreed," Hugh nodded. "It's almost noon, already."

However, as they headed back to the horses, Cadfael's eyes were caught by a glimpse of gold, but as he turned his head back, it disappeared.

"What is it?" Beringar enquired.

"I'm not sure. Haven't you seen anything?"

"You mean apart from rocks, rocks, and some more rocks? No, not really. Why?"

"Hum..."

After a last hesitation, Cadfael walked in the general direction of the glimpse, until one again he was dazzled for a second by a flash of gold. There was definitely something shiny on the ground, but it was small, and it took the monk several minutes before he found it. For once, it had come as an advantage that the Holy Land was such a sunny place, for he would never have seen it in the cloudy England. Bending, he picked up a small, rounded piece of metal and examined it closely.

"It's a coin," Hugh said, his eyebrows raised up to his hairline in surprise.

"A Saracen coin, at that," Cadfael nodded. "And not a recent one. But what is it doing here?"

"It can't be a coincidence," Hugh mused. "So it had to have been brought here, either by the murdered or by the murderer."

"But even if it's the case, why bring here a gold coin? It makes no sense, just like everything else actually." The monk shook his head in frustration.

"Indeed, so far everything we discovered raised more questions than it answered," Beringar admitted. "But for now I think we found everything there was to find, so let's get back."

Cadfael agreed and followed his friend, all the while staring at the small coin. A Saracen coin, a sword with a golden hilt, a dead man who had been moved after his death, and a murderer who was nowhere to be found. Add to that a manservant who was a mystery in himself, and there was enough to make him feel the onset of a headache.

"_On peut rentrer_," Hugh told Mathieu, and the sergeant nodded abruptly before climbing on his mare and leading the way.

The journey back was much more silent, each of the three men lost in thoughts - although Mathieu did not seem to have that many thoughts to be lost in in the first place. Both Hugh and Cadfael were staring at their respective finds, while the sergeant stared at nothing in particular. At last, they saw ahead of them the stony walls of Jerusalem, blurred through the dust and the heat, and a few minutes later they passed one after the other through Jehoshaphat's gate, dusty and sweaty but reasonably satisfied with their ride as far as two of them were concerned.

"Let's go back to St John's," Cadfael suggested. "No use going back to the Temple."

Hugh nodded, then began talking with Mathieu. Several times, the sergeant shook his head vehemently, protesting against whatever it was Beringar was telling him. After a moment, Hugh heaved a sigh of exasperation, then said two or three sentences. Mathieu seemed to consider, then nodded his agreement, and Hugh turned towards his friend.

"Our dear friend here insists we should tell the acting commander about what we found. Since he is _very _insistent, I told him I'd go, but you can go back to St John's."

"You're sure you don't want me to come along?" Cadfael enquired, reluctant to leave his friend on his own, but Hugh waved his concern away.

"No need for you to bother. If you would take that sword back with you, though, I'd be grateful."

"Of course."

Cadfael took the sword, which was heavier than he had surmised, and felt a little stupid with it in hand, and no sheath. He hid it under his scapular, lest it would raise some eyebrows if people saw a monk with weapon in his hand. Even in Jerusalem, that was not a common sight. With a nod, he bid Hugh good bye for the time being, and headed back to St John's. The sun was nearing its zenith, for it was past noon, and the sultriness reached its highest point. Cadfael was more than glad to leave his horse in the stables after he had quickly groomed her, but as he made for the room he shared with Hugh, he nearly bumped into Blaine. The Hospitaller gave a pleased grin when he recognized his long time friend.

"Cadfael! I was just done with training, and about to get something to eat. Care to join me?"

"Gladly! I just need to stop at my room and leave a few things there, and then I'm free."

"I'll accompany you, then." Blaine glanced around as though looking for something or someone. "Your friend isn't with you?"

"No," Cadfael shook his head. "He had a few things to take care of."

"Very well," Blaine said with a shrug. "Anyway, I had the distinct feeling he doesn't like me very much."

That pained Cadfael a little, and he gave the Hospitaller a reproachful glance. "He just doesn't know you yet, so it's normal he would be a little wary. Certainly, you don't hold a grudge just because he asked you about the murder..."

"Well, it's not every day someone almost asks me outright if I had any reason to kill a man," Blaine grouched. "But I can understand his point of view. Is that your room?"

"Ah, yes." Cadfael opened it and entered, followed by his friend. Taking the sword from under his scapular, he set it down on the bed, but before he even withdrew his hand, Blaine let out an exclamation of surprise.

"God in heaven, Cadfael, where did you find this?"

The knight strode to the bed and picked up the sword, then stared at it intently as though he could not believe his eyes. Taken aback, the monk blinked and stared at his friend for a second. "Why? Do you recognize it?"

"Of course I do! I must insist, Brother, where did you find it?"

"Out of town," Cadfael said slowly. He gently took the sword from Blaine's hands, put it back down and looked expectantly at his friend. The knight gazed into space for a moment, then shook his head and glanced sheepishly at the monk.

"I'm sorry, Cadfael," he said. "It's just... I really didn't expect to see this sword here."

Cadfael had always thought he was a patient man. Until now. "So, who does it belong to?" he asked keenly.

Blaine gave him a sad smile. "It's Antony of Thornbury's."

Gaping, the monk was still for a moment, frozen in shock, then sat down heavily on the bed. "And here I thought we had found the murderer's sword..." he murmured dispiritedly. "I thought we were a little closer to finding the murderer... all this for nothing, in the end!"

"Well, at least now you have a clue," Blaine said to cheer him up. "You can be sure that whoever killed Thornbury, it was not to steal him. This sword is worth at least a hundred pounds, if not more."

"Are you absolutely certain this is Thornbury's?" Cadfael insisted.

"Quite sure," the Hospitaller snorted. "When someone holds a sword at your throat, you usually don't forget the weapon."

"Another piece of evidence which vanishes on us," the monk sighed. "Well, that's no reason to starve ourselves, I suppose. You said something about a meal?"

"Yes. Don't you want us to wait for your friend?"

Cadfael shrugged. "I don't know how long it'll take him to get back, and he won't mind. I could drown a whole bucket of water all by myself."

"Water?" Blaine protested. "Who said anything about water? We should have some fresh beer."

"Fresh beer?" Cadfael eyed his friend dubiously. "And just where do you intend to find anything fresh in this heat?"

The Hospitaller grinned in answer. "That's one of the reasons why I chose the Hospitallers over the Templars - they know how to take care of themselves. _Mens sana in corpore sano_, as they say. We have a cellar, dug deep enough to keep things relatively fresh."

"I can only admire your resourcefulness," the monk retorted mockingly, and Blaine bowed with a flourish of his hand. "Well then, lead us to your rejuvenating beverage."

"Right. We'll keep some for your friend, if you want."

"I'm certain he'll appreciate," Cadfael nodded.

However, Hugh was not to taste the beer, for he did not show up during the meal. Once they were done eating, Cadfael and Blaine gave up waiting for him and took a walk in the courtyard, in the welcome shade of the high walls of the Hospital of St John, all the while chatting amiably.

"Still," Blaine said, "all this mess is a pity."

"What?" The remark had come without anything obviously justifying it, and Cadfael looked at his friend in understandable surprise.

"I'm speaking about the murder, of course," the knight specified.

"I thought you did not like Thornbury," Cadfael observed idly. "Why would you care about his death?"

"Well... I don't know," Blaine shrugged. He passed a hand through his blond, grey-flecked hair, and added, "I guess I somehow got used to him, after some time. Feels strange not to argue with him every once in a while. And, well, it's a pity about his wife, too. She was a nice girl, in spite of what she was."

It took Cadfael's brain a moment to process all the informations he had been given. "His _wife?_! Thornbury was married?"

Surprised by the monk's vehemence, Baine nodded. "Of course. I thought you knew - it was no secret in Jerusalem. But I don't see what difference it makes."

"It makes a huge difference, I'm afraid," Cadfael sighed, his mind twirling with the implications of his discovery. A wife - and so many more reasons for Thornbury to have been murdered. Was it jealousy? Or should he suspect the woman herself to have wanted to get rid of her husband? But if so, why? And then, something else struck him as strange, and he frowned. "What did you mean, when you said 'in spite of what she was'?"

Blaine leaned back against the wall, rubbing his back against the cool stones with relish. "It caused a bit of a scandal. Actually, I'm not even sure they had been lawfully married, for which priest would have agreed to celebrate such a union? Yet, he went out openly with her at his arm, so who knows...? But Thornbury often had strange ideas, that he did. Sometimes, I wondered if he was all there."

The Hospitaller's idle chatter was putting a great strain on Cadfael's patience, but his glare must have been plain enough for his friend quickly got back to the point.

"...and I guess nobody else would ever dare to call a Saracen woman his wife."

Cadfael had been expecting about anything but that. A commoner, perhaps, or a very ugly woman, from what Blaine had been saying - even a whore. But a _Saracen?_ What Christian man would ever marry such a woman? And what Saracen woman would ever marry such a man? Then again, she might not have been given much choice, although Cadfael could not imagine her family agreeing to such a union. He himself had never considered marrying Maryam - although he had cared about her a great deal.

"Where is she? The wife?" he asked. Perhaps if he could speak with her...

But Blaine shook his head. "I have no idea. Hardly a day after Thornbury's death, she left. As far as I know, she did not tell anyone where she intended to go, but I doubt she intends to come back, since she took her son with her."

Another thought struck Cadfael, and he bit his lower lip. He should have known, he should have suspected... a surprising and frustrating idea was creeping into his head. Almost with resignation, he asked the obvious question. "What was her name?"

"Ayah, why?"

Cadfael heaved a deep, miserable sigh. "For no reason." He sat down on the stone of a window sill and stared glumly at the dusty courtyard, deserted at this time of the day. The sun was blazing, so much that Cadfael felt some sympathy for the knights who were supposed to train in that sultriness. The day was exceptionally hot, even for the Holy Land. Then he thought again about all the clues they had found, all the evidence that seemed to be crumbling as their quest for the truth went on. What little remained was the coin he had found. So far, Blaine had been a reliable source of information, so he might as well show it to him.

"Blaine?"

"Hum?"

"Have you ever seen anything like that?" Cadfael showed him the Saracen coin, that shone darkly in the meagre shadows of the interior walls.

The knight took the coin and brought it closer to his eyes to study it with attention. "That's Saracen. Seems rather old. Looks like you have a knack for finding things, Cadfael. But I'm afraid I have not seen anything like this, not recently in any case."

Disappointed, the monk stowed the coin back in the small bag he kept at his waist, where he also stored a few herbs and balms. "Never mind," he said. "I just found it. It might not have anything to do with Thornbury's death."

Blaine scratched his head thoughtfully. "Well, I can't really help you, but if you want information about Saracen things, you ought to speak with Imrahim."

The name sounded vaguely familiar, but Cadfael could not remember where he had heard it before. "Imrahim? Who's that?"

"A beggar, in town. Most of the time he stays near the Hospital of St Mary. He's old and harmless, although the children are afraid of him because of his scars. I must admit he does look horrible, but each time I spoke with him he sounded very dignified - for a beggar, that is - if a little out of his mind. I heard the wildest tales about him, that he had been a proud warrior and a war leader. As for me, I'd say he was always a beggar, and perhaps a talented storyteller, but, well..."

Blaine was, once again, indulging in his infuriating habit to give in to idle chatter, but Cadfael remembered in time that he was supposed to be the embodiment of patience, so he did not interrupt his friend. He could have sworn, however, that the Hospitaller was taking a wicked pleasure in making him wait. But as Blaine trailed off, the monk had to prompt him.

"And why should I ask Imrahim about the coin?"

"He knows a lot of things - for a beggar, as I said. Used to tell Saracen tales for a coin or two, I don't know if he still does it. If anyone in town will know anything about your coin, that's him."

Cadfael remembered now where he had heard the name before - it was the beggar on whose stick he had very nearly tripped, the previous night. If he had known, at the time... then again, at the time, he did not have the coin, so it probably made little difference.

"Anyway," Blaine added, "I have to go now, or Gary definitely won't forgive me. Give my regards to your friend."

"I will," the monk replied with a small smile.

The Hospitaller took his leave, and Cadfael remained alone. It felt strange to be alone - in the last few weeks, it had not often been the case, and it made him realize Hugh was very late. How long could it take him, to go speak to the acting Commander of the Templars and then come back? He was not exactly worried - after all, what could happen to his friend in the middle of the day, in Jerusalem? But, still, it was not normal, and he began to toy with the idea of going to the Temple to make sure. However, in the end he did not have to, for Hugh showed up no long afterwards, looking tired, and grouchy, and hungry, but perfectly all right. Relieved, Cadfael greeted him with a wide smile.

"What took you so long?" he asked. "No - never mind. Go get something to eat, I'll take care of your horse."

"Oh, gladly!" Hugh replied as he wiped his forehead.

He handed the monk the reins of his horse and headed to the kitchens, while muttering something unflattering about the Holy Land and its climate under his breath. Cadfael chuckled as he led the brown stallion to the stables, groomed him and made sure he had enough to eat and drink before going back to the kitchens, where he found Hugh busily swallowing mouthfuls of bread and hardly taking the time to chew them.

"So?" Cadfael enquired as he took a seat in front of his friend.

Beringar shook his head and hastily finished his mouthful before replying. "Well, de Biran was not very happy we kept the sword - I didn't mention the coin, by the way. Said if it's the murderer's weapon, he should keep it at the very least."

"It's not," Cadfael informed him.

"It's not what?"

"It's not the murderer's weapon. I just spoke with Blaine, he told me the sword belonged to Thornbury himself."

Hugh looked surprised, and understandably disappointed. "Is that so? Well, I suppose it's logical he dropped his sword when he died. And if the murderer moved the body, it's possible he forgot the sword behind."

"Or did not have the time to move it as well, if Tahir disturbed him when he discovered the body," Cadfael pointed out.

"Right," Beringar sighed. "We'll have to check, I suppose. Hmph, in any case we would have had to give the sword to de Biran."

"Still," the monk said, faintly amused, "don't tell me you argued over an hour about who got to keep the sword, did you?"

"Of course not," Hugh replied with as much dignity as he could muster while eating. "But since I was there, I asked to speak with Tahir, just in case he remembered anything about his master's death he did not tell us already. And while I was at it, I asked him if his master possessed any Saracen coins."

"And what did he say?" Cadfael leant forward in interest.

"That his master did not possess any coins like the one I described, but he did remember something about that day. He said his master was looking carefully on the ground, as if following tracks. Tahir said he was not really paying attention - he could not have known his master would be killed - but he thinks once or twice he saw a figure, ahead of them on the road. He said that on second thought, perhaps his master had been following someone."

"And what did Amaury think of that?"

Hugh snorted. "He said it was probably a story made up by Tahir to save his sorry hide, and that we should not believe a single word of it. I'm not so sure about it. Tahir sounded sincere. Of course, he could have been lying all the same, but the fact that he came back after his master's death seems to indicate that he is either very loyal, or very stupid. In both cases, it is unlikely he would lie. But Amaury's a Templar, and his duty is to fight the heathens, so I suppose it's natural he would be biased."

"That's another clue, at the very least. We established Thornbury had to be going out of town for a reason. He might very well have been following someone. But why... I don't know. In any case, I didn't waste my time, while you were at the Temple."

Cadfael repeated everything Blaine had told him, including what he had said about Ayah being Thornbury's wife, or assumed wife, and having to ask Imrahim about the coin. Beringar shook his head with a wry smile.

"I don't know how you do it," he said. "Each and every time, you are ahead of me, no matter what."

There was no bitterness in Hugh's voice, only admiration and affection, so Cadfael smiled. "I'm just lucky. And, well, I am old, wise and experienced - it's only fair it should be of use every once in a while."

"In that case, I certaintly hope to end up as wise and experienced as you," Beringar chuckled. "You can keep the 'old' part. In any case, I suppose we should pay this beggar a visit, this afternoon."

"It's hardly past two o'clock," the monk pointed out. "He probably will have found shelter somewhere, I doubt we will find him near the Hospital of St Mary. I suggest we wait for half an hour, or an hour, before going."

"I concur," Hugh nodded.

"Only because you're not done eating yet," Cadfael sniggered.

His friend gave him a mock-offended look, but did not deny it.


	8. A Well Known Saviour

**A/N : **Sorry for the time it's taking to update this. As you can imagine, I'm busy with all kind of stuff. You might be happy to known that chapter 9 is already written and will be posted as soon as it's corrected.

* * *

**Chapter 8**

When eventually Hugh was done eating, he stretched a little and stood up. The noise made Cadfael jump slightly; he had been indulging in a little heat-induced drowsiness, and he discreetly rubbed at his eyes as he rose to his feet as well. Not discreetly enough to escape Hugh's sharp eyes, though, and when the monk saw the mirth etched on his friend's face, he gave up the pretence and yawned deeply.

"I suggest we get the sword and bring it back to Amaury de Biran first," Hugh suggested. "Then we'll have all the time we need to find this beggar. Our Templar friend was really wound up about the sword. I am even half-surprised that he hasn't sent someone to get it back already, and drag us back to him besides."

"Well, that's understandable," Cadfael observed. "He was there before us, and he should have found that sword. That makes him look less than competent, and I don't suppose that's a situation he takes delight in."

"I'm beginning to wonder what he did do to investigate that murder," Beringar grumbled. "We've discovered more in twenty-four hours than he in ten days." Cadfael opened his mouth to say something, but his friend cut in. "I know, I know, it's not really his job to investigate a murder. But still!"

They left the kitchen and headed back to their room to pick up the golden-hilted sword. As they walked in the dark and relatively cool corridors, Cadfael answered to his friend's last comment.

"I'd say Biran is simply biased. He thinks he has a culprit, Tahir, and sees no need to enquire any further. He's a Templar, Tahir is a Saracen. I know the most convenient culprit is seldom the actual one, but what else did you expect?"

Hugh sighed. "I know... I'm not being idealistic, Cadfael, but I do think that de Biran is really not trying very hard to find any clues, even ones that would incriminate Tahir."

"So you think his conscience is not as clear as it might be?" Cadfael asked, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

Beringar chuckled in answer. "I know, I know, I'm starting to see a murderer in every man. Be careful, anytime now I'm going to accuse King Stephen. But, more seriously, I think he's given up on finding any further proof. Which makes Tahir an all the more convenient culprit."

By then they had reached their room, and Cadfael opened it as he replied. "Well, the problem is that we have too many possible culprits. We don't have enough clues."

"We never do," Hugh pointed out wryly as he bent to pick up Thornbury's sword. "Perhaps this beggar will be able to tell us more about the coin, but I doubt it will help us find the murderer."

"I'm not very hopeful either," Cadfael shrugged, while he handed his friend a piece of cloth to wrap around the weapon; walking in the street with an unsheathed sword in hand was not the best way to escape notice. "But that's all we have."

They left the Hospital and headed to the Temple Mount. The warmest time of the day had passed, but the air was still heavy, thick and moisty, and the two men took their time - after all, they had little reason to hurry. At the door of the Temple, the guards were getting used to seeing those two faces, and moments later Cadfael and Hugh were brought to Amaury de Biran's office. It was as untidy as ever, and they had to be careful not to step on one of the valuable rolls of parchments scattered everywhere.

"Ah, you're there," said de Biran, raising his head. "And you brought the sword, I see."

He picked up a sheath from his desk, and held out his hand; Hugh gave him the golden-hilted sword, which fitted the sheath perfectly.

"As you can see," Amaury continued, "there can be no mistake; this sheath is Thornbury's, and so is the sword. He shall be buried with both, of course. Well, that's it, Brother, my lord. Unless you found something else? If so, I'd like to see it. Anything that might help me find the murderer is welcome."

Cadfael hesitated, but he had no reason not to show Amaury the coin; at the worst, he would be laughed at for thinking it was a valuable clue. He searched in his purse and held out the gold piece.

"We found this close to the place where Thornbury was killed. There is no certainty, naturally, but it might have belonged to the killer."

The Templar examined the coin closely, then shrugged. "Hmm. It might as well have belonged to Thornbury. And even if it does belong to the murderer, his name's not written on it. It doesn't help much. But still, why didn't you mention it, Lord Beringar?"

Hugh fidgeted uneasily. "It's hardly conclusive. I didn't think it was worth mentioning."

After giving the coin back to Cadfael, Amaury leant back in his chair and looked at the two men. "In any case, it seems we won't catch the murderer anytime soon... now, what do you want to be done with the corpse? Since the King sent you to look for Thornbury, I suppose you'll want to bring the body back as proof?"

"What about his wife?" Cadfael protested. "She might want to dispose of the body, don't you think?"

"His wife?" Seemingly astounded, the acting commander of the Templars stared at Cadfael for a moment, then barked a laugh. "Who told you about his wife?"

"A Hospitaller Knight. Why?"

Amaury snorted. "My poor friend... very few people here ever believed Thornbury was actually married to the girl. For the love of Christ, a Saracen? And after that, people went on how noble, and how pious, and how devout Thornbury was, ha! No, no. He probably did not want to call her a concubine, or a whore, or a slave, but that's what she was."

Hugh sighed. "Anyway, it's not for us to decide what to do with the body - although, if you want my personal opinion, it would be better to bury him here, and the sooner the better."

"Yes, you're probably right," Amaury readily agreed. He grimaced. "Nobody wants to go down to the cells anymore. When I want somebody to go down there, I have to make it a direct order, so rest assured I'll be glad to be rid of the... hum... inconvenience." There was a silence, then he resumed. "What is your next step, if I may ask?"

"We don't know yet," Hugh shrugged. "Any suggestions?"

"Sorry, no. But be sure to let me know if you need any help."

"We will. Well then, we'll take our leave."

"Certainly," the Templar nodded. "The sergeant will take you back."

A few minutes later, Hugh and Cadfael found themselves back outside in the sultriness of the mid-afternoon. The sky, clear and blue, left no hope for reprieve from this torment.

"Does it ever rain in this God-forsaken land?" Beringar sighed as they walked away from the Temple.

"Yes, but I hope it won't," Cadfael replied.

His friend stared at him. "Come again? Are you doing penance for something, Brother?"

"No, no," the monk laughed. "Rain is rare in these parts, but when it comes, it comes in torrents. The roads turn nearly impassable for at least a whole day, and the whole country becomes a swamp. Naturally, the water itself is welcome, but I can't say I'm looking forward to such a thing."

Hugh snorted. "Well, I suppose it is only natural that the Holy Land should be a peculiar place. Now, where did your friend say we can find the beggar?"

"Near the Hospital of St. Mary."

"And where is that?"

"Not far from here," Cadfael assured his friend. "We just need to turn right after the Tanner's Gate. You can see it from here."

And indeed, the Hospital of St. Mary was hardly a five minutes' walk away from the Temple. It was surrounded by narrow streets, protected from the sun. The animation of the major streets was nearly non-existent there, and though a few people went about their business, none paid attention to a monk and a lord. New faces were a common thing in Jerusalem, where pilgrims, crusaders and merchant went back and forth.

They had to search Imrahim for a little while, and Cadfael was the first to spot him. The old man was sitting down, his back against the wall, still coiled in the same woolen blanket as when the two friends had first seen him. It did not seem to have been washed since. Now that he saw him by daylight, Cadfael realized that his face was even more devastated than he had thought. It was a nightmare of scars only softened by the presence of kind, dark brown eyes, that radiated with life and wisdom. The rest of his body had not been spared, as Cadfael noticed when he saw the hand the beggar held out, a hand so crooked it resembled a claw more than anything else. Sympathy built up in the monk's chest, and he wondered what had happened to that man to leave him in such a state. He was used to working with lepers and taking care of injured people, and yet he had rarely seen such wounds, however old they might be.

"Let me talk to him," he suggested to Hugh, who nodded in agreement.

Beringar was a kind man, but his manners were sometimes a little blunt, especially when he was looking for information, while Cadfael's experience with the old and sick had given him, or so he hoped, the patience and gentleness necessary to deal with Imrahim. For some reason, he felt that the beggar had been deeply wounded, and not only physically, and while he did not forget what he and Hugh were looking for, he also wished he could give the old man some relief.

Cadfael walked to the beggar and knelt in front of him, with an open smile. The beggar looked at him intently for a moment.

"I know who you are," he said. His voice was rough, broken, just like the man himself, and thickened by a discernible Saracen accent.

"My name is Cadfael," the monk replied.

"You tripped over my stick," Imrahim retorted, gesturing at the baton that lay on the ground near him. "And he gave me alms," he added as he pointed at Hugh, who had remained a step behind.

"He's a friend of mine. Hugh Beringar," Cadfael explained. "Imrahim, we..."

"How do you know my name?" the beggar cut in.

"Another friend told me. He said..."

"You want something from me," Imrahim said again.

"Well - yes," Cadfael admitted, a little unsettled by the beggar's interruptions. "My friend told me you were the one who would know."

"I know many things," the old Saracen murmured, staring into space. "And even more things, I do not know. But few people care what a beggar knows or does not know."

Loosening the purse at his waist, Cadfael took the gold coin inside and showed it to the beggar, whose eyes lit up in interest when he saw it. He grabbed it and studied it closely, while mumbling to himself.

"My friend said you would know where this coin comes from," the monk encouraged him after waiting patiently for a little while, but to no avail. "Can you tell us?"

Imrahim pursed his lips. It was a rather scary sight. "Perhaps," he said. "But it will cost you."

Cadfael was not surprised; the Saracens were, after all, a people of bargainers. He merely nodded in agreement. "What do you want?"

"There is little you can give me," the beggar rasped with a hollow laugh. "I want you to tell me where you found this coin, and I want to keep it. If you agree to this, I will tell you what I know."

Surprised by how little the old man actually asked, Cadfael hesitated, and gave Hugh a sidelong glance. However dim a clue it was, the coin was still a piece of evidence, and he was reluctant to let Imrahim have it. But without the informations the beggar might give them, it was, after all, worthless to their enquiry. Hugh was aware of that, and he gave a slight nod.

"All right," the monk relented. "We give in to your demands."

"Good," Imrahim said, straightening up, and for a fleeting moment, he seemed taller than he actually was. "This is a Saracen coin, made in Jerusalem. It is over fifty years old, I can tell from the picture on the coin. It was probably left over from the treasure of Jerusalem..."

"The treasure of Jerusalem?" Cadfael asked. He had heard of such a thing, but he had never been sure how much credit he should give it. People liked legends, and stories of treasures, and Cadfael himself had never seen much evidence that this so-called treasure of Jerusalem had ever existed.

Imrahim must have felt the monk's doubts, for he shook his head with a mysterious smile. "You do not believe in it, do you? But I was there - I was in Jerusalem, before it fell under Christian rule, and I saw the treasure before it disappeared. I was a young man then..." he trailed off, and Cadfael saw pain flicker in his eyes - not physical pain, it seemed more like... guilt. But guilt over what? Suddenly, the old man seemed more hunched up than before, as though he was carrying some invisible burden, that was yet heavy as the world.

"Thank you," Cadfael said gently. "Is there anything more you can tell us about this coin?"

The old man gazed into space, and for a moment Cadfael wondered whether he had heard him, but at last an answer came in a distant voice. "No. I told you all I know."

"Thank you," the monk repeated.

Raising his head sharply, the beggar seemed to come out of his memories. "Now, it is your time to keep your part of the bargain," he said, sounding rather distrustful.

"We found the coin in the east," Hugh stepped in, "at the foot of the mountains, not far from the road."

The beggar straightened slightly. For some reason, the answer seemed to please him - unless he was just relieved that Hugh and Cadfael had kept true to their word and given him the information he wanted. In any case, why he should want to know where the coin had been found was beyond Cadfael, but he decided it was better not to ask, certain that Imrahim would not tell him anyway.

Hugh nudged Cadfael. "We ought to be going," he suggested in a low voice.

"Yes, I suppose," the monk agreed. It seemed they had got all the information they were going to get from Imrahim.

They bade Imrahim goodbye politely, and made back for St- John's Hospital. Hugh remained silent at first, but Cadfael predicted it would not be long before his friend began asking questions; and indeed, he was not mistaken.

"So what is this 'treasure of Jerusalem' tale about?" Hugh enquired, breaking the silence.

"That, my friend, is a curious story, in which I never believed... until now," Cadfael replied slowly.

"Yet I would be grateful to hear it," came the wry answer, with more than a little impatience.

"There is nothing to it, really, it's hardly worth..." the monk trailed off when he saw the threatening look his friend was sending him, and he relented. "Rumour has it that just before Jerusalem fell, in 1099, its ruler, Iftikhar ad-Daula, gathered many of the treasures of Jerusalem, mostly gold and relics that were kept in the Dome of the Rock in the Temple Mount, and entrusted them to one of his closest friends. This friend was to take advantage of the confusion, when the crusaders led by Raymond de Toulouse and Geoffroy de Bouillon launched their final attack, so as to hide this treasure and keep it from Christian hands. But none of this was ever proved, and even if some gold and relics did disappear, they might as well have been stolen by some of the crusaders and long spent here and there."

"I see..." Hugh said thoughtfully. "Well, it sounds indeed like a tale for children. Yet, this coin had to come from somewhere. And it did look rather ancient."

"Perhaps," Cadfael agreed reluctantly, "but what conclusions does that lead us to?"

"We did wonder who would want to kill Thornbury, and why. Gold can be a powerful incentive. What if Thornbury had found some of this Saracen gold from Jerusalem, and someone else had found out about it?"

Cadfael pursed his lips as he pondered the suggestion. It was a theory, but it included too many maybes for his taste. "Then it would give us a motive," he finally conceded. "But not the name of the murderer."

They kept walking, silent for a moment, then Cadfael laughed softly. "You know," he said, "I'm starting to wonder whether Imrahim might have actually been a 'proud warrior', like Blaine said. One does not usually get such scars as a professional beggar."

"He seems to have been through a lot," Hugh nodded. "Saracens as a whole remain a mystery to me. I still don't understand Tahir's motives in bringing back Thornbury's body."

"Neither do I," Cadfael laughed, "and I've stayed here over two decades!"

By then, they had almost reached St- John's, but Cadfael's laugh died as he suddenly frowned and looked around him. The street was relatively crowded, and try it as he might, he did not see anything out of the ordinary. A little surprised, Hugh looked around as well, but did not seem to notice anything, either.

"What is the matter?" he asked, as Cadfael made no move to enter the Hospital.

"I am not sure..." the monk murmured. "For a moment, I felt as though I was being watched. I was under that impression once or twice in the past days, but never so strongly."

"Really?" Hugh asked, sounding a little dubious. "I didn't notice a thing."

Cadfael shrugged. "It was just a fleeting impression; let's not waste time with that."

His words were spoken lightly, but before he entered the relatively cool hall of the Hospital, he cast one last, lingering and suspicious look behind him. Then, with another shrug, he entered, followed by Hugh.

"So what do we do now?" the latter enquired. "That coin was our last clue. Should we act on it? Because, if we choose not to, I do not see what more we can do but go back to England and report the failure of our mission."

"Act on it?" Cadfael repeated. "What do you suggest?"

Hugh was silent for a long time, and Cadfael decided not to disturb his line of thought. Slowly, Beringar walked in the inner courtyard and sat on a bench, followed by the monk. A moment passed by, without any word being spoken on both parts. Cadfael's patience eventually began to run short, but as he was about to nudge his friend, Hugh spoke first.

"Remember what Tahir said, about his master following someone?"

"Well - yes."

"This someone had to be going somewhere, don't you think?"

Cadfael was beginning to understand what his friend was getting at. "I should think so," he replied gravely.

"Assuming, of course, that Tahir neither lied nor was mistaken, we can safely assume that this mysterious person Thornbury was following found out that he was, indeed, being followed, and was so anxious to keep his destination unknown, that he decided to get rid of the man who tracked him."

"Yes, I imagine we can assume that," Cadfael agreed.

"Therefore," Hugh concluded, "I suggest we go back to the place where Thornbury died. And if we are right, the reason for his death should be near."

"But we went there this morning," Cadfael objected, "and we found nothing, save of course for the coin and sword."

"Then we did not search thoroughly enough," his friend insisted stubbornly. "Besides, what else can we do?"

Cadfael had no answer to that question, so he shrugged. He was doing that too often, he chided himself; he should lose that habit before he came back to Shrewsbury, or Prior Robert would probably take great pleasure in berating him. Monks should be humble and reserved in all occasions, he would say, not casual and flippant.

"Fine," he said. "Let's go back, then."

"You think you'll be able to find the place without our cheerful friend, Mathieu, to help us out?"

"I think so," the monk said after a moment's hesitation. "Besides, I'm not sure whether Amaury would agree to lend us his sergeant again."

Hugh grimaced. "Good point. And I assume our dear friend Amaury feels like he has seen too much of us lately. Let's get the horses, then."

On their way to the stables, the two friends ran into none other than Blaine, who was unhappily carrying a stack of weapons. He smiled, however, when he saw Cadfael, though his smile soured a little when he took notice of Hugh's presence. The relationship between the two men had never really been given any occasion to thrive, and it had somehow turned to a sort of mutual tolerance, for Cadfael's sake. Perhaps they were too different, yet too much alike to get along with each other, the monk thought mournfully.

"Sorry, Cadfael... er, I mean, Brother, no time to speak now," Blaine sighed, then gestured with his chin at the swords he was carrying. "Cleaning duties, penance for being late for training."His grimace spoke volumes. "I hope to see you tonight at diner, though."

"With pleasure," the monk agreed, although he noticed ruefully that Blaine had carefully yet tactfully avoided including Hugh in the invitation. "We will be outside for most of the afternoon, anyway."

"Until this evening, then."

"Brother Blaine, where have you gone, now?" an angry voice called from the other side of the inner courtyard, and Blaine's face took on an interesting colour.

"Hum, I'd better be on my way," he said sheepishly, and he pattered along, hardly keeping one of the swords from falling down as he did so.

Cadfael looked reproachfully at Hugh, who had a hard time concealing the mirth etched on his features. At last, he gave up, and chuckled soundlessly as he glanced behind him. A resounding clang informed Cadfael that Blaine had most likely lost his fight against the Stack of Slippery Swords, and even he could not keep back a smile.

"Hugh, really!" he chastised his friend righteously. "You should not be taking pleasure in the predicament of others."

"Oh, believe me," his friend replied with renewed laughter, "I am sympathizing very much."

Having eventually retrieved their horses, they headed out, without wasting any more time. To leave Jerusalem through one of the eastern gates, they had to cross almost half the city and go along the temple of Moriah. Then they turned right, and once again crossed Jehoshaphat's Gate. From their last ride, they knew it would take them at least an hour to reach the mountains, and having no particular reason to hurry, they did not press the horses. In the desert, there was not much to see, especially since the landscape, closer to the mountains, was more rugged than it had been during their travel to Jerusalem. The heat was as unpleasant as ever, but the two men were getting used to it at last, and accepted it as an unavoidable affliction.

"You know," Cadfael said, "I keep thinking it is strange. I have been away for over two decades, yet at times it feels like I left only yesterday..."

"It is a very peculiar place," Hugh admitted. "A place that one can hardly be expected to forget, even in twenty years."

"Perhaps," the monk conceded. "But I keep being surprised when I see people I knew, like Blaine. He has changed, and the land has not. Perhaps it is the reason why I cannot help thinking about him as the lad he once was."

"The truth is that, by my standards, your friend is hardly a lad," Hugh said, sounding amused at the idea. Indeed, Blaine was almost twice his age.

"In any case, you can testify I never wanted to come back here, but now that I have, I am glad I did, even in such circumstances," Cadfael confided in a low voice. He would never admit that to anyone else, but it was true that it felt a little like a goodbye - as though, at last, his journey was completed. Now, he could go back to England, his mind, heart and soul, at peace.

"Well, I'm certainly glad that at least one of us enjoyed it," Hugh replied, laughter underlying his voice.

Cadfael smiled, and was about to comment on the broadening of one's mind through traveling, when he saw Hugh tense, eyes set on something in the far distance. The not so far distance, actually, Cadfael realized when he looked in the same direction. His eyes were not as sharp as they had been, but it was not long before he saw the shape of three horsemen, who came closer and closer from behind. They were already quite close, and the monk wondered how neither he nor Hugh had spotted them before, but he had not time for further questions as, already, the three men were on them - their swords drawn.

The thought of outrunning the three unknown horsemen came to both Hugh and Cadfael at the same moment, as did the following realization that it was impossible. Their mounts were already tired after their first ride, that morning, and if their attackers had fresh steeds, it would be all too easy for them to catch up with them. The only thing to do was stand fast and fight. Unsheathing his sword, Hugh gathered his reins in one hand; he was a good enough rider to easily control his stallion even with only his left hand.

Cadfael had only his dagger, and in such a fight it would not be very helpful. He looked at the three horsemen, who would be on them in moments. All of them clad in white, their faces were covered by a veil such as certain Saracens wore, but Cadfael could tell they were not Saracens, if only from the way they rode, not to mention from the fact they wielded Christian swords. The monk allowed himself a painful smile; his analytical mind kept working, even when death was looming over him in a very real way. He saw Hugh urge his stallion forward, probably with the intent of protecting him, but Cadfael's protest died on his lips as the fight began.

Two of the unknown horsemen focused on Hugh, probably marking him as the most dangerous of the two, and the last one charged Cadfael, waving his sword around confidently. But, as much as he might look like an innoffensive monk, Cadfael had survived the crusades, and for a good reason. He waited until the very last moment, aware that the attacker was overly confident, dodged the deadly blade by a hairsbreadth, and took advantage of the rider's proximity to drive his dagger in the man's shoulder, hard.

His reluctance to deal a fatal blow, however, proved to be a mistake. Very much in pain, but not out of the action, the white-clad attacker raised his sword with a snarl of anger, set on beheading Cadfael. It would have been a royal execution for a humble monk, had not another man come to his side in time to fend off the blow. The newcomer had no qualms killing the attacker, and the man collapsed in his saddle, lifeless. Panic-stricken as it felt the reins slacken, the horse neighed loudly, then galloped away. Cadfael hardly noticed that, as he strained to see his saviour's face in the sunlight.

Already, the said saviour was lending a hand to Hugh, and, demoralized by the loss of their friend, the two last attackers soon gave up the fight and fled. A loud silence followed the clatter of the skirmish.

"Olivier..." said Cadfael weakly. The shock made his head spin. Of all places, this was the last where he expected to meet his son - yet, Olivier was a part of this land, was he not?

"Cadfael, are you all right?" Hugh asked, sounding rather concerned, and the monk realized he must be pale as a sheet.

"Yes," he said, although he was not really sure of that. "But, Olivier..."

The young knight turned his hawk-like eyes in the direction of Jerusalem, where the mysterious horsemen had fled. "I doubt they will come back," he said. "Let us go wherever it is you were headed, and I shall tell you how I came to be here in time to keep your head on your shoulders."


	9. The Treasure of Jerusalem

**Chapter 9**

Cadfael, Hugh and Olivier had resumed their ride at a slow pace. The monk was still shaken by his son's unexpected arrival, just in time to save his head, and he could not help but stare at the younger man, his mind full of questions. Why was he here, and how, and... The more he tried to guess, the more he felt confused about the whole matter. Perhaps he was losing his touch.

"So, how did you get here?" asked Hugh, who was as curious as Cadfael but did not have as much patience.

A discreet smile curled the lips of the young man. "Why, for the same reasons as you, if I'm not mistaken."

"Is that so?" Hugh raised an eyebrow.

"It makes sense," Cadfael observed. "Olivier knows the land, the language, the people... and he was a close friend of Thornbury's, were you not?"

His son cast the monk a sharp glance. "I see you did not waste your time," he said. "Indeed, Antony of Thornbury bestowed me the honour of calling me a friend, and I deeply respected him."

"Why not tell us the whole story?" Cadfael suggested.

"Why not, indeed?" Olivier replied wryly. "Very well, I shall tell you everything, starting when the Empress entrusted me with this mission. I was to go to the Holy Land, and convince Antony to join her cause. To be honest, I was glad that it gave me the occasion to go back, perhaps for the last time, to the land where I was born. That did not please Ermina much, though," he added with a wistful smile at the thought of his wife.

"I should have expected it," Cadfael sighed. "It was obvious the Empress would send someone, and this someone could only be you. Who would have been more suited?"

"It's always easy to second-guess oneself," Olivier said gravely. "I myself had no idea King Stephen was sending you, at least not until I saw you at the port of Arsur. I understood immediately that you were seeking Thornbury as well, and thought it best to hide my presence for the moment. But I also saw you were accompanied by a young woman I knew very well before I left."

"Ayah," Hugh murmured, voicing Cadfael's thoughts. "I assume you are the reason for her... rather hasty departure."

For the first time, Olivier looked a little guilty, and his complexion took a darker tinge. "Well, I'm sorry about that, but I wanted to take care of her - and since I could not really reveal my presence to you... We are, after all, supposed to be on opposite sides. I showed myself only because you were in danger."

"I suggest we think of the Holy Land as neutral territory," Hugh replied with a snort. "I really don't fancy fighting you now - especially after you gave us some much appreciated help."

"I... quite agree," Olivier said stiffly. "Until we reach England, at least. Besides, it seems we have a common enemy."

Cadfael pricked his ears when he heard that, unsure what his son actually meant, but instead of asking he urged Olivier to continue telling his story.

"Ayah told me about Antony's death, and I could not leave without knowing the whole truth about it - I owed that man a great deal - so I travelled to Jerusalem with Ayah and Gawain," the young man explained. "Once we got there, I asked for the hospitality of the Knight Templars. Brother Amaury was most understanding, and provided me with everything I needed. I advised Ayah to remain out of sight, as much as possible, and I kept an eye on the two of you, because I know that if anyone could unravel the mystery of Antony's death, you would. I stayed out of sight, but I was always nearby."

"So that was you!" Cadfael exclaimed.

Olivier looked taken aback. "It was me what?"

"I thought I felt as though I was being observed," the monk explained. "But all that time it was you."

"Probably not," Hugh stepped in grimly, drawing surprised looks from the two other men.

"What do you mean?" Olivier asked. "It's true that I was in fact observing you two."

"But you were not the only one," Hugh pointed out. "Else, how would our three attackers have known where to find us?"

Cadfael paled, as he realized Hugh and himself must have been under constant scrutiny from at least two different people, ever since they had arrived in Jerusalem - and they had not realized it for a second! Ruefully, he thought that he really was getting old.

Olivier's thoughts were similar, and he frowned. "I had a good reason for keeping an eye on you," he said slowly. "But the only other person who would have a reason to do it too would be..."

"The murderer," Cadfael concluded weakly, as a feeling of dread washed over him. The idea that a murderer was out for his and his friends' blood was rather unsettling, even for someone as experienced as him.

But Hugh was at the moment little concerned for his or anybody's safety. Face tensed in concentration, he reached the logical conclusion. "That means the murderer is getting desperate," he observed. "Trying to kill us was a bold move - and unexpected. That also means we are on the right track."

"Speaking of that - _where _are you headed?"

"Back to where Thornbury was killed," Cadfael informed him. "That's the last place where we hope to find a clue."

"I tend to agree with Lord Beringar," Olivier commented thoughtfully. "There has to be something there, or the murderers would not have been desperate enough to act so openly against you."

"The murderers?" Cadfael asked, taking notice of the use of the plural.

"Well, your attackers were three, were they not?"

"That they were," Hugh said, "But I am convinced there is a mastermind behind this. And that man is the one who pronounced Thornbury's death warrant."

"Yet we are no closer to finding who that might be," Cadfael pointed out wearily.

"I disagree," Olivier protested. "Not everybody is influential enough to keep two men under constant observation, and to send three men to commit murder just outside the walls of Jerusalem. I say it narrows down the number of suspects quite substantially."

"But many powerful men choose to remain in the shadows," Cadfael answered.

"True enough," Hugh concurred. "It could well be someone we never heard of before. There is no telling. Pity we couldn't take one of our attackers prisoner - that would have answered quite a few questions, I think."

"It's too late to cry over spilt milk," Olivier said reasonably, although he sounded a little regretful as well.

By then, the three riders had almost reached the spot where Thornbury's body had been found, and at that point they left the road to head towards the mountains. Hugh's memory served them well, as he was able to find the way back to where he and Cadfael had found the dried blood, that morning. It seemed like a lifetime ago, now, with everything that had happened - yet it was just the middle of the afternoon. That made Cadfael realize that he had not kept most of the offices, of late; he had simply forgotten about them. They had seemed relatively unimportant, in regard of the death he was trying to explain, but that was not really an excuse, now, was it? Yet, it was not the moment to care about that, but the monk promised himself he would meditate and pray for a long time that evening. Perhaps his vocation was being tested, but he would not...

"Let's split up," Hugh suggested. "We'll cover more ground. I'll go south, Olivier west, Cadfael can investigate in the east."

"All right," Olivier agreed, and Cadfael nodded his acceptance.

The direction he went in took him closer and closer to the mountains. For once, he was grateful for the aridity of the Holy Land, for it certainly made it easier to spot anything conspicuous, although the terrain was so rugged and rocky that he had to be very thorough in his search. After a moment, he sat down and wiped the sweat from his forehead, with the frustrating feeling that his efforts were leading nowhere. Perhaps they had been mistaken, and perhaps there was nothing to find...

But then why would they have been attacked? Could the three white-clad men be just common thieves? No, that would be too much of a coincidence, would it not?

Well, if there was anything to find, he would find it, the monk decided with a grim determination. Even if not knowing what he was looking for made his search all the more difficult. Even if more men intent on killing him and his friends might show up at any moment. Even if he was not sure he had the situation under control, but rather felt like he had been manipulated all along. No, he would go through with this, because he was no longer doing it for a man he had never known, or even for the love of justice; he was doing this for his son's sake, and for his own.

At this moment, a spot of shade in the side of the closest mountain drew his attention. Why would there be a spot of shade when there was nothing visible to provide it? Getting closer, he realized the spot was actually a large hole, that seemed to be going deep inside the hill. Nothing unusual so far, but curiosity drove Cadfael to enter the hole - more of a cave, really. The pitch blackness inside it contrasted violently with the bright outer light, and for a moment the monk was good as blind, although that did not stop him from going further down the cave. But he was soon to regret it, for a moment later he stepped on something that gave way and made him trip to the ground.

Groping around him in the dark, he felt something cold and smooth under his fingers; something made of metal, a cup, he realized after he fingered it carefully. A metallic cup in a cave?

Having got used to the darkness by then, he used the daylight to guide him back to the entrance, where he was at last able to see exactly what he had unwillingly laid his hands on. He stared at it for a moment, and his mouth fell open in astonishment. So that was it - no wonder the murderer, whoever he was, had tried to prevent him and Hugh from getting back there.

In his hands, he was holding a golden, gem-set cup that in itself was probably worth a fortune, and Cadfael felt quite safe in the assumption that there were many more treasures in the depth of that cave.

To think he had never believed in the treasure of Jerusalem, and now he was one of the very few men who knew where...

His blood ran cold in his veins. For a treasure like this... how long would it take the murderer to come here and dispose of those who had discovered his secret? There was no time to lose.

Cadfael was about to run back to Hugh and Olivier, but he did not have time to move as a dozen men, mounted on horses, made their appearance over the ridge of the hill, and rode closer until they had him surrounded. He had been so shocked by his discovery, that he had not been too aware of his surroundings, and ridiculously he felt a little like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. The cup fell from his limp hands on to the ground with a resounding metallic sound, when, in the midst of the riders, he saw Hugh and Olivier, bound and weaponless, both looking downright furious to have let themselves be caught. But what would they have done when the odds were six to one?

"Ah, Brother Cadfael, I thought I would find you here. I always knew you were a shrewd man," the leader of the riders said cheerfully. "You should be more careful with this cup - it's a beautiful work of art."

Like his men, he was clad in white clothes, but his face was not masked, and besides the monk would have recognized his voice anywhere, and even more so with the unmistakable, though light, French accent. Amaury de Biran... _Never trust a Frenchman, after all._

Recollecting himself, Cadfael straightened up and stared at the newcomer. "So it was you," he said slowly. "Will you satisfy my curiosity as to what were your motivations?"

"Why not?" the Templar shrugged. "I cannot let you live anyway, now that you have found the treasure, although I assure you it truly grieves me."

The monk glanced at his son for a fleeting instant. He knew he could never let Olivier be murdered in front of him without doing something about it, even if all he accomplished was to be killed as the first. He had failed his son once already, when he had left Maryam, and he would not do so again, because either way he would not survive it.

"It was not a murder, actually," de Biran said. "It was an honourable duel. We had it long coming, really. Antony and I were friends in our youth, but we became enemies early into our adulthood, and had never stopped loathing each other ever since. We loved the same woman, you see, and love has a way of destroying friendships. It is even more ironic since eventually, neither of us married her... but for some reason, Antony blamed me for her death. Anyway, this is an old story."

"But that was no reason to kill Thornbury!" Cadfael exclaimed, incredulous.

Biran made a small gesture of impatience. "Of course it wasn't. Let me get on with the story. As I said, Antony and I were enemies, and it became worse when he came to live in Jerusalem. He had sworn to disgrace me if he ever got the occasion, and I was more than ready to return the favour - so we kept an eye on each other. When the location of the treasure of Jerusalem came to my knowledge, I tried my best to keep Antony out of it. I knew he would cause me trouble if he ever found out, and I wasn't mistaken. I had planned, with a few trusted companions..." he gestured at the other riders, "...to take the treasure and upon sharing it, live the remainder of my life in Europe, rich and careless."

Olivier's face had become pale from his barely restrained anger, and Amaury's last sentence was too much for him. "You took an oath as a Templar," he said in outrage. Cadfael was surprised at the bitterness in his voice. "And a little gold is enough to break your faith and murder someone who had been your friend. What kind of man are you?"

"This is not 'a little gold', my friend," Amaury said calmly. "This is perhaps the greatest treasure, and certainly the holiest, that ever there was. Besides, as I said, it was a fair fight. When Commandeur Evrard left me in charge while he was away, I decided it was the right time to move the treasure, but Antony somehow followed me to the cave, after leaving his servant behind. He was intent on denouncing me, of course, and I could not let him do that. So we decided to settle this in a fair duel. I keep thinking we should have done that a long time ago. In any case, I ended up victorious, but I could not leave Antony's body so close to the cave. If anyone conducted an investigation, there were too many chances the treasure would be discovered. So I moved the body, but I forgot his sword and the Saracen coin he had intended to take as evidence. An unfortunate mistake, really, for it led you here, obviously."

"What about Tahir?" Cadfael asked. He was not so much curious, as stalling as much as possible.

The Templar captain shrugged. "I expected him to flee when he saw his master's body, but he didn't. In the end, he made a rather convenient culprit, although I understand no better than anyone else why he would come back."

"And then you decided it would be convenient to kill us, is that so?" Hugh said, his voice icy. "I assume the three riders who attacked us on the way here were some of your men."

Amaury made another impatient gesture. "Yes, they were my men, but I never ordered them to kill you. They were supposed to keep an eye on you, nothing more. But when Matthieu saw you were heading towards the cave where the treasure was hidden, he lost his nerve and started the attack. I would never have ordered something so stupid, and believe me, I berated him thoroughly enough when I learnt of what happened. But since the harm had already been done, I had no choice but to come here. I cannot afford to let you live now that you have discovered everything. I am truly sorry about that."

"That's highly comforting," Hugh replied, rather snidely, although his eyes were cold and hard.

"We should get done with this, now," another of the Templars intervened, his voice tinged with a foreign accent, although Cadfael could not say with any certainty which country he came from. "If we are out too long, it might rouse suspicions."

Amaury nodded. "Diederich is right, I'm afraid," he said. "It saddens me a great deal, but eh, _c'est la vie_."

He made a vague gesture, and two of his men dismounted and unsheathed their swords, ready to carry on the execution. Both Hugh and Olivier tried to resist, but they were quickly overpowered and firmly held by two other Templars. Cadfael witnessed the scene, but it felt surreal. He was unable to move, hardly capable of breathing, strangely oppressed as he watched the two most important persons in his life struggle in a battle they could never win. He would have begged if he had thought it would do any good, but he knew it was no use. Finally, he managed to regain control of his limbs, and he ran toward his friends, but one of the Templars stood in his way and backhanded him. The metallic gauntlet he wore made it a harsh blow, and blood poured from the monk's split lips, but that did not stop him. But the Templar drew his sword, ready to strike a deadly blow.

"In the name of God...!"

The exclamation from another Templar distracted Cadfael's executioner long enough for the monk to crawl out of reach, and to take his dagger from under his scapular. But when he looked around him, he realized that everyone had stopped in mid-motion. Even Hugh and Olivier had stopped fighting, too surprised to move. Both the rogue Templars and their intended victims were completely surrounded, by at least a hundred men clad in kaftans, and riding nervous horses of various colours. They all held their scimitars threateningly, and that made for an impressive sight.

One of the newcomers detached himself from the group and urged his horse forward. Cadfael's astonishment upon recognizing Imrahim in the proud leader was matched by all the other Christians. Gone was the lonely beggar of Jerusalem, although his face was as badly scarred as it had always been, and his hands as damaged. But _something_ had changed; he had the bearings of a nobleman.

"Surrender or die!" he shouted in his rough, hoarse voice, but with authority and assurance.

Amaury looked furious and afraid at the same time. He did not let much of his fear show, but Cadfael had seen that same look before in the battles he had fought. But the other Templars were looking expectantly at him, waiting for him to speak, and so he did.

"If we surrender, you are going to kill us," Amaury shouted back. "We might as well go down with a fight and our honour intact!"

Amaury was certainly a scoundrel, a faithless man by all account, a greed-driven murderer most definitely, but he was not a coward, and not a fool either. Cadfael had to grudgingly grant him a small measure of respect for that, in spite of everything.

"I can give you my word, that you shall be kept alive," Imrahim offered.

"And you will make us wish you would kill us," Amaury replied wryly. "I know the ways of your people, beggar!"

"My people's ways are no worse than your people's," the old man said, his dark eyes burning. "You should know better than anyone else."

"Is that supposed to convince me to surrender?" Amaury snapped furiously.

"The treasure of Jerusalem was never meant for the Christians. It belongs rightfully to my people!"

Everybody had their attention on the two leaders, and Cadfael felt a little as though he was reliving the crusades. That revived his fighting spirit; he locked eyes with Hugh and nodded once. Hugh nodded back and elbowed Olivier. A second later, the two men threw themselves on the two closest Templars to pin them down, while Cadfael drove his dagger harshly in his ex-executioner's leg. He did not want to kill, not so much for the other man's sake as for his own, but that ought to be enough to bring him down.

"Li-l-amâm!" Imrahim shouted, taking advantage of the temporary confusion, and the Saracens charged forward.

The Templars had never stood a chance. Three of them fell dead in a matter of seconds, and it was hardly a moment longer before those still alive were overpowered. They did not surrender - Templars never surrendered, no matter what. Perhaps because they gave their enemies no mercy, and expected none in return. Amaury was undoubtebly the one who put up the most resistance, but eventually he too was disarmed and held down. Cadfael had witnessed the scene, without fighting. Whatever he did would not have changed the outcome, not to mention he could not possibly have picked a side. But now, he wondered why the Saracens had been so keen on taking the Templars - or most of them - alive.

Imrahim dismounted. Cadfael would have said he looked downright smug, if that impression did not clash so terribly with the old man's dignified bearing. He gave a sharp order, then bent and picked up the cup Cadfael had dropped on the ground, hardly a moment before. Two of his men entered the cave, then came back out with a wide smile.

"What... what are you doing here?" Cadfael asked, feeling a little stupid, and not at all certain Imrahim would answer.

However, the old man smiled. "I followed your indications. I knew the treasure could not be far from here, and when you showed me that coin, I knew what it was at once. I should know - I am the one who carried it out of Jerusalem. So I returned, at last, to my people, and brought them here to give them back what is rightfully theirs."

Staring at him in astonishment, Cadfael tried to get his bearings back. "I... am not sure I understand. Would you mind explaining?"

One of Imrahim's men came to him and said two or three sentences, looking with insistence at Cadfael, but the beggar shook his head and replied in English. "No, leave them. My enemies' enemies' are my friends, after all."

Not certain he liked this, Cadfael kept silent, but Hugh was not that patient. The deputy Sheriff came over, and Cadfael was glad to see he was fine, save for a shallow cut on his cheek. "Would you mind telling us the whole story?" Hugh asked, courteously, though his tone made it sound more like a demand than a question.

"I must admit I am curious too," Olivier stepped in, his hawkish eyes set intently on Imrahim's ravaged face.

"I have salvaged my honour," the old man replied quietly. "My story shall be told. Fourty-five years ago, I was a close friend of Iftikhar ad-Daula, the ruler of Jerusalem. I was only twenty then, and I was deeply honoured when Iftikhar entrusted me with the holy task of hiding the treasure of Jerusalem before the Christians could find it. He knew the citadel would fall soon. When it happened, I took advantage of the confusion to leave and hide the treasure."

"It must not have been easy," Cadfael commented.

Imrahim's eyes burned, and his voice became distant as he recalled the events of his youth. "No, it was not, but with the help of God, and thank to the devotion of a few trusted friends, I succeeded. However, as I was returning to Jerusalem to learn of what had happened to Iftikhar, I was captured by a small group of Knight Templars. They knew I was the one who had hidden the treasure, and they were intent on laying their unworthy hands on it. And so, they tortured me. I did not want to talk. I wanted to die. But eventually, my resolve broke, and I told them all they wanted to know, and more. They left me, as you see me now - broken in both body and soul, dishonoured, unworthy of my lord Iftikhar's trust."

He stopped for a moment and took a long breath. Obviously, remembering this was hard on him.

"What happened then?" Olivier asked. His features were as cold and hard as stone, and Cadfael looked at him in desolation. How hard it must be on his son, to see the result of the Templars' torture on Imrahim's face...

"I crawled back to Jerusalem, and learnt that Iftikhar had surrendered the Tower of David in exchange for safe passage for him and his bodyguards. I was alone, but even if I were not, how could I have gone back to my lord, after what had happened? The only thing I could do was to retrieve the treasure, but I was hardly in a state to walk, let alone fight. All I knew was the name of the Templars' leader: Guillem de Biran. How could I forget that name? I cursed it relentlessly for three days, while I was being tortured. I hoped to kill that man someday, and I am sorry to say I never managed to do it. But upon learning of his death, I decided to keep an eye on his nephew... Amaury. I can see now the same blood runs in his veins. When he left Jerusalem, a fortnight ago, and was followed by Antony of Thornbury, I had little doubt as to what happened between them."

"Then why didn't you..." Cadfael began, then cut himself short. He knew perfectly well why Imrahim had not said anything; who would have listened to a beggar? Besides, with Amaury in charge...

Amaury himself was at the moment fighting his two guards, and the Saracens had all the trouble in the world keeping hold of him. Imrahim walked to him and pressed the tip of his blade into the Templar's throat. Whatever else he might be, Amaury was neither an idiot nor a coward and he stopped his pointless resistance, although he gave Imrahim a look of sheer hatred.

"Your uncle tortured me," the old man said quietly. "He stole the treasure that belonged rightfully to my people. Now, I took the treasure back, and I am going to make you pay tenfold for this slight, Templar."

Cadfael still had his dagger in hand, bloodstained though it may be, and he used it to free both Hugh and Olivier from their bounds. They watched Imrahim and Amaury, one man driven by honour-bound revenge and the other by hatred and greed, so different yet so alike in certain ways. Cadfael did not approve of Amaury's actions, but so far the man had done nothing warranting whatever fate Imrahim had in mind for him. If he had said the truth about Thornbury's death and their duel - and the monk was inclined to believe so - then all he had done was try to keep stolen gold, and accuse an innocent of a crime he had not comitted. And try to kill Cadfael, Hugh and Olivier, but since he had not succeeded...

"Wait!" Cadfael called to Imrahim, his decision taken. "Don't... uh, do whatever you had in mind."

The old man, no longer a beggar, turned his head slightly to look at the monk, though he prudently kept the tip of his scimitar pressed against Amaury's neck, hard enough that a rivulet of blood came down and stained the Templar's white mantle. "Why?" he asked quietly. "That man has lied, stolen, and killed. It is only justice to have him punished in a fitting way."

"It is not justice. It is revenge. If you do to him what his uncle did to you, then how are you any better?"

"Cadfael!" Olivier hissed from behind the monk.

Cadfael knew he was taking a gamble by speaking so boldly to Imrahim, but it was something he had to do, no matter what. If he had not misjudged the old man, there was nothing to fear.

And indeed, Imrahim's scarred features softened, as a ghostly smile passed upon his lips. "You are too gentle, my friend," he scolded the monk. "To let your enemies alive is only to offer them another opportunity to strike, when you won't be looking."

"But if you kill Amaury now, Tahir is as good as dead," Hugh said. Cadfael glanced at him in surprise; he did not expect his friend would be excessively saddened by Amaury's fate, were he to remain in the custody of the Saracens.

That argument seemed to sway Imrahim a little. He frowned, then eyed Olivier with a thoughtful look. "You are a Christian, and a friend of the Templars'," he said, "but you are also one of our own. If I was to release Amaury de Biran to you, would you give me your word that he shall be punished justly, following the way of your people?"

The young man hesitated for a second, and Cadfael could tell he was tempted to refuse and to leave Amaury, whom he clearly considered to be a disgrace to the order, to his fate. Biting his lip, the monk prayed that his son did no such thing. It would only be the first step, but it was a step that led straight to the road of evil, he knew that all too well.

Eventually, to Cadfael's relief, Olivier nodded his acceptance. "I will ensure he shall be dealt with most severely," he said. "Commandeur Evrard will not take kindly to what he has done, I can assure you."

"Good," Imrahim said calmly. "If you don't keep your word, rest assured I will know - and then _you _shall be the one to suffer."

Olivier's hawkish eyes darkened until they were mere slits, blazing with anger. "You need not threaten me," he replied in a carefully composed voice. "I have given my word, and I have yet to break it."

Imrahim nodded curtly in acknowledgment, then turned back to Amaury. "I will show the mercy your uncle did not, and let your people judge your actions. But I still have to make sure you will never forget your sins."

In a single, swift move of his wrist, Imrahim ran his blade along Amaury's face. Immediately, blood poured from the cut, which crossed the Templar's features from his right temple to the left side of his jaw. The cut was deep enough that the Knight would be scarred for life, but Cadfael could not bring himself to feel truly sorry for the man. He closed his eyes, and wondered what the Holy Land had done to him. Had he become so ruthless?

"You may go, now," Imrahim announced. "Take that miserable excuse for a man out of my sight, and return to Jerusalem. I shall keep the other Templars, until Tahir is returned to us. No harm will come to them, unless you do not keep your word."

In a matter of minutes, the Saracens had gone, leaving only Cadfael, Hugh, Olivier and Amaury behind. The Templar was clutching his face, and blood seeped through his fingers, but he did not let out a single moan of pain. That man, apart from being greedy and cold-hearted, was also much too stubborn for his own good, Cadfael thought.

"Well, let's go back, then," Olivier said. "Stay here, I will fetch the horses."


	10. The Templar Commander

**A/N : **I'm sorry for the wait. I'll try to be quicker for next chapter, but I'll be very busy in the coming days. Perhaps during the Christmas holidays.

Also, my wonderful beta-reader, Kezya, pointed out a mistake I made : Olivier is not a Templar (if he were, he probably would not have been allowed to marry). I tried to correct that in previous chapters. If anywhere in the story you notice me describing Olivier as a Templar, please let me know.

* * *

**Chapter 10**

While Olivier was gone, Cadfael decided to take a look at Amaury de Biran's wound. No matter whether the man deserved to suffer or not, it was not the monk's privilege to pass judgment. He was a healer, and as such would care for anybody who needed his help, regardless of the person's worthiness. Hugh looked a little concerned when Cadfael stepped forward, but the monk stopped him from speaking with a slight headshake. Scowling a little, Beringar folded his arms but gave a curt nod.

Cadfael laid a hand on Amaury's wrist, and the Frenchman jerked slightly at the unexpected touch. He looked at the monk through his bloodied fingers, his brown eyes darker than ever.

"What do you want?" he snarled.

"Are you so unable to accept the kindness you are offered that..." Hugh began, but Cadfael silenced him with a frown. It was not like Beringar to speak so harshly or with so much contempt, and that showed that the Frenchman was making him angry. It had to be said, though, to Hugh's credit, that de Biran would make a saint angry at that point.

"I just want to have a look at this wound," Cadfael said soothingly, although there was a distinct edge to his voice. He was starting to get a little irritated himself.

The Templar appeared to ponder that. Cadfael did not expect any thanks, and he did not get any, but Amaury wordlessly consented to being examined, so the monk gently probed the long, deep cut. It was still bleeding, but head wounds always bled a lot, so that did not concern Cadfael exceedingly. He suspected Amaury was probably experiencing some light-headedness, but if he did, he said nothing of it.

"It's quite deep," Cadfael finally announced.

"Thank you, I could have told you that," Amaury commented acridly.

Cadfael ignored him. "You're going to need stitches, and we'd better make sure it stays clean. Infection can be quite deadly in the Holy Land. I'll need a piece of fabric..."

After a slight hesitation, the monk took hold of the Templar's white mantle, intending to use it as makeshift dressing, but before he could tear the fabric, steely fingers closed around his wrist, stopping him. In the space of a second, Hugh unsheathed his sword and pressed the blade against Amaury's throat. The three of them remained quite still for a few seconds, although it felt like much longer, and then the Frenchman released Cadfael.

"You will not touch this mantle," he said quietly.

Then only did the monk remember how important the white mantle was as a symbol to the Templars. He thought that was a bit of a paradox, since Amaury's actions had been in general nothing short of unlawful, but who said people were consistents or rational? Cadfael himself could not have cared less if he hurt the Knight's feelings, but he did respect the sanctity of the white mantle, so he did not insist, and used his dagger to cut off some fabric from his scapula instead. The rough material would be much less comfortable for Amaury than the soft cloth of his mantle, but it would just have to do. Meanwhile, satisfied there was no more danger coming from the Templar, Hugh sheathed his sword, although he now kept an even keener eye on the prisoner.

Olivier arrived as Cadfael was finishing his ministrations, leading four horses by their reins. The fourth having probably been left behind per courtesy of Imrahim.

"Are you fit to ride?" Cadfael asked their prisoner.

"Of course," came the haughty reply. The monk had expected nothing less, though he had felt it was his duty to ask. No matter Amaury's actions, Cadfael was intent on treating him as humanely as possible, for his own sake if not the Templar's. Lately, his own ruthlessness had begun to worry him. He did not want to lose his soul to the petty satisfaction of revenge, but what frightened him the most was what his son would do if he gave in to such behaviour. The thought anguished him, but he was not certain Olivier would stop him. And he did not want to find out.

"We should go," Hugh said, gently bringing the monk to reality. "It is quite late already, and I don't fancy riding back to Jerusalem in the dark."

Indeed, night came quite early in the Holy Land, and although the path was not exceedingly perilous, a ride in the dark was never completely safe, so Cadfael nodded.

"You're right," Olivier said. He seized the reins of the grey mare and tied them to the pommel of his saddle, then gestured for Amaury to mount. Conscious that he was not given a choice in the matter, the Templar complied without a word, his face sullen under the red-stained dressings.

The ride back was uneventful, and quite silent. Each of the four men had many things to ponder on, and they did not feel the need to share their thoughts - at least for the moment. Besides, they had a mission to fulfill, to save an innocent man's life... but Cadfael was beginning to wonder how to accomplish that. He purposely let Olivier get ahead, so he could speak quietly with Hugh without Amaury overhearing them. No need to give him ideas. Having noticed that something was bothering the monk, Hugh gave him an inquisitive look.

"What is it, Cadfael?"

"I was thinking about the Templars. How are we going to convince them? We don't have any proof - it will be our words against Amaury's. And who do you think they will believe?"

Hugh frowned in concern, having obviously not thought of that. "Well, there is his wound..."

"We could be the ones who injured him," Cadfael pointed out. "That is no sufficient evidence."

"Well then, what about the Templars taken prisoners by our beggar friend? Their disappearance would have been noticed."

"Please, Hugh, you know better than that," Cadfael scolded him tiredly. "You know as well as I do that it proves nothing, except that they have gone missing. Anything could have happened to them."

"The treasure, then!" Hugh sighed. "Because after that, I'm at my wits' end. And we have Olivier on our side, and he is friends with them."

"Yes... I suppose..." the monk conceded uneasily.

Hugh, being his perceptive self, did not fail to notice it. "What's wrong?"

"Well, that is..." Cadfael hesitated. "If we tell them about the treasure, the Templars will want to keep it."

"So what?" Hugh shrugged.

The monk chuckled, acknowledging his friend's known disregard for money, but became serious again very quickly. "That gold belongs to the Saracens."

He could not see Hugh's face very well in the twilight, but he caught a glint of white when his friend smiled. "I would not worry about that, if I were you. Knowing our friend Imrahim, I would bet my office as Sheriff of Shrewsbury that by the time we come back to the cave, there won't be much left of the treasure to plunder."

Cadfael laughed, relieved. "I had not thought of that," he admitted.

They were getting quite close to Jerusalem, and all the better, since the sky was darkening more and more with every passing minute, clear but moonless.

"I'm not sure we should take Amaury into town," Cadfael said after a short while. "That would probably make a bit of a commotion."

"I was thinking about that. Perhaps you and Olivier could go forward and speak to the Templars, while I guard him out of town?" Hugh suggested.

"Yes, it sounds like a good idea," Cadfael nodded.

They rode a little faster to catch up with Olivier and inform him, and the young man agreed to the plan. Leaving thus Hugh and his prisoner behind, father and son made their way to Jerusalem and crossed Jehoshaphat's Gate. After everything that had happened, it felt somewhat weird to be amongst normal people who went about their business, and who had no idea of the important events that had taken place that evening. But it was also oddly relaxing, and as tension left him, Cadfael realized that he was deathly tired. Fortunately, the affair was almost concluded, and soon he would be going back to England, and to his peaceful cloister. The monk felt he had had his fill of adventures for a lifetime.

He followed Olivier along the Temple Moriah and past the Royal Palace, and then a little farther until they reached the Knight Templars' headquarters. As usual, two men were guarding the door, but there was also much activity in the courtyard; at least a dozen horses were being taken care of, while knights and sergeants went about their business, carrying bags and sadles inside the Temple. Cadfael shared a glance with his son.

"Perhaps they are concerned by the acting Commander's disappearance, and they are about to go look for him..."

"No," Olivier shook his head. "Look at the horses - they are tired and covered with dust. They have just arrived, from a long journey."

"A visit?"

"Perhaps," Olivier said, but he sounded rather unconvinced. "Let's find out."

The two men walked to the gate of the Temple, and Olivier adressed one of the two guards casually.

"Say, Brother Alan, what is going on?"

The man, a broad-shouldered, middle-aged sergeant, looked at him in surprise.

"What, haven't you heard?"

"Heard what?" Olivier asked with a touch of impatience.

"Commander Evrard is back," the guard explained. "He just arrived, perhaps half an hour ago. Lord, he was not happy when he saw that Brother Amaury was not here to greet him..."

The unexpected return of the commander was a surprise, but a good one. Evrard had really arrived in the nick of time, Cadfael thought, though it would still be a difficult task to convince him. If the Templar commander had not been happy because of Amaury's absence, he would be unhappier still to hear of his second in command's breach of the Templars' rules.

"Good," Olivier said. "We need to see Commander Evrard at once."

Alan raised an eyebrow and eyed him with a hint of mockery. "I'm not sure it's a good idea. He is in the most execrable mood. I hear there is trouble in the north, and the last ten days were not easy on him."

"I will thank you not to indulge in gossip," Olivier retorted, somewhat drily. "He is in his office?"

The guard shrugged. "Your funerals. Yes, he is."

Cadfael and Olivier entered, and the first noticed that the latter seemed to know the insides of the Temple well, for he found his way without difficulty, leading the monk through a maze of corridors, until he finally reached a door and knocked forcefully. But after all, that came as no surprise, since Olivier had been a Templar in Jerusalem long before he went to England.

"Enter," called a muffled voice.

So they did, and they found themselves in a vast office, not unlike Amaury's, though much tidier. Half a dozen men were present, all decked in the same knightly white mantles. It was not difficult to identify the highest ranking one, however, for he was at the moment seated behind a heavy wooden desk.

The Templar commander reminded Cadfael forcefully of Father Radulfus. Just like the Abbott, he had alert and vivid eyes, though his were blue instead of dark brown. However, the resemblance went no further, for the Templar had finely chiselled features, and greying blond hair. In his early forties, he was also strikingly handsome, but there was a stiffness and coolness in his demeanour that whispered to Cadfael that the man must not be easy to live with.

"What is this intrusion about?" Evrard asked scathingly, looking from Cadfael to Olivier.

"I apologize," Olivier said respectfully, almost standing to attention. "But I must talk to you about a matter of the utmost importance."

"Then go speak to Captain Amaury. That is, if you can find him," the Templar commander growled back.

"This matter concerns Amaury."

Cadfael could not help but notice his son had, no doubt on purpose, abstained from using Amaury's rank. He was also certain that Evrard did not fail to notice that either, as the commander glanced at Olivier shrewdly.

"And I suppose it can't wait," the commander finally said, his voice dripping with irony. "It never can. I've got people pushing me around all day for things that can't wait. Then tell me, Olivier, is it more important than the Saracen uprisings in the north?"

So he knew Olivier's name. Cadfael looked from his son to the commander, and he realized they must know each other. He also got the distinct feeling that they was no love lost between the two of them.

"If you want to avoid a Saracen uprising _here_, it is," Olivier replied evenly.

"You don't say..." Evrard murmured. For some mysterious reason, he sounded more amused than alarmed. "Very well," he concluded abruptly. "Leave us."

The six other men left, obviously not daring to protest, but they did look downright unhappy. One or two of them even gave Olivier the evil eye, but the young man ignored them with a stolidness born out of habit. Once the last of them had closed the door of the office behind him, Evrard leant back in his seat and stared at the two intruders unkindly.

"So, the prodigal son graces us with his presence," he jeered. "But where are my manners? By all means, do take a seat."

"You're too kind, sir," Olivier replied, pretending not to notice the commander's mockery. Cadfael would never have thought his son was capable of so much restraint, and not for the first time he felt pride swell in his chest.

"Now," Evrard pursued, "I _am _a busy man, so please get to the point."

"Of course sir," Olivier said meekly. "But it is something of a long story, and with your permission I would rather Brother Cadfael here summarized it for you."

"You have ten minutes and not a second more," Evrard retorted, and Cadfael scowled, unhappy that his son had put him in the spotlight without so much as a warning.

He proceeded to narrate the story of Thornbury's death and the part Amaury had taken in it, then of the discovery of the treasure and the events that had followed suit. Evrard listened silently, absent-mindedly playing with a dagger, only breaking his silence by a snort of contemptuous amusement every now and then. The commander was not behaving as Cadfael would have expected from an officer of such important rank, but naturally it was not the monk's place to pass any judgement. However, he found Evrard's amusement and overt contempt somewhat irritating.

"And you expect me to believe such a wild story?" Evrard asked when the monk was done.

For the first time, Olivier betrayed some anger, and clenched his fists tightly. However, his voice was as steady as ever when he answered, "Brother Cadfael spoke the truth."

"So you say," the Templar commander replied drily. "Amaury was my second in command for over five years. _He _did not leave to follow some fancy English lord."

"He had a good reason to stay," Olivier retorted.

So there was the heart of the matter, Cadfael thought. Besides, the flow of arguments between the two other men rather made him think it was far from the first time they had that kind of discussions.

"So you say," Evrard repeated. "I have only your word."

"That and the fact that Amaury and his men have disappeared this afternoon."

The argument must have struck home, for Evrard looked a little uneasy. "That is no proof," he objected, but sounded rather unconvinced. "You could have dispatched them."

Olivier paled and took a step forward. "Are you calling me a murderer?" he asked, his voice vibrating with fury.

Obviously pleased to have got Olivier on the raw, Evrard did not seem in the slightest intimidated by the young man's rather agressive demeanour. "You're one to complain," he said pleasantly. "You accused Amaury of the same thing, after all. Incidentally, accusing a man who is not present to defend himself seems very low to me."

"Then perhaps we should fetch Amaury and hear what he has to say," Olivier replied in clipped tones.

"That sounds reasonable," the Templar commander agreed suavely. "But do take a few of my men with you. It would be such a pity, were Amaury to be... 'killed while escaping', don't you think? Especially since there has been no formal complaint against him, and he is being detained unlawfully. One might even speak of abduction..."

"That man tried to kill us," Olivier said evenly, his hawkish eyes reduced to mere slits and blazing fearsomely.

"Once again, you offer only your word," Evrard pointed out. Olivier was about to retort, but the commander cut him short with a wave of his hand. "As entertaining as this little talk is, I have other things to do, and so do you. Bring Amaury here, and we will talk some more."

It was a clear dismissal, and Olivier bowed stiffly before heading to the door. In spite of the circumstances, he was still only a guest of the Templars, and as such subjected to Evrard's orders. Cadfael followed suit after nodding politely to the commander, needlessly though for the Templar was back to reading some scroll and did not look up to see them leave.

Cadfael and Olivier's trip back to where they had left Hugh and Amaury all passed in a blur for the monk. It was his third ride out of town in the same day, and his body seemed to want to remind him that he was not as young as he had once been. He hardly paid any attention to the two Templars whom Olivier asked to come along, as Evrard had demanded, and focused all his energy on staying in his saddle and concealing his exhaustion. He must not have been fully convincing, though, for Olivier sent him concerned glances again and again.

"Brother Cadfael," he finally said, "I should have taken your fatigue into account. Are you sure you don't want to head back? I can ask one of the good Knights here to accompany you..."

"Certainly not!" Cadfael protested indignantly. "I am not all that old yet, you impertinent youngster!"

"But I must insist..."

"I won't hear another word," the monk replied adamantly, and his son had to relent to his stubbornness.

Fortunately, the spot where Hugh and Amaury had stayed was not far from Jerusalem, and it was only a fifteen minutes' ride after the group crossed Jehoshaphat's Gate. However, as they came closer, Cadfael began to feel that something was not right. Hugh must have spotted them by then, so why did he not call? And where was the exact spot? It was hard to tell in the dark, but Olivier had an hawk's eyes and he led the monk and two Templars forward without a shade of hesitation. Yet, the feeling that something was wrong did not leave Cadfael, and he urged his horse forward, ahead of his son.

"Can you see them?" he asked.

"I think I can see one of their horses," Olivier replied, eyes narrowed.

Now downright concerned by the absence of a call from Hugh, Cadfael urged his mount onward, all exhaustion forgotten, and his son followed with the same swiftness. They stopped near the horse Olivier had seen - only one horse, the monk noticed absently - and dismounted hastily. As Cadfael hurried towards the stallion, he stumbled over something. Something soft and warm. Something that let out a moan. Something that was a someone.

"Lord..." the monk murmured, kneeling beside the prone man.

"Is that Beringar?" Olivier asked behind him.

"Yes," Cadfael confirmed. He would have recognized Hugh's voice anytime.

"Then where's Amaury?"

"I don't know," the monk said, and at the moment he could not care less. He palpated Hugh's chest and face, trying to find where he was hurt, and he was relieved when at last he found a swelling at the back of his friend's head. He had just been knocked out, and likely would suffer nothing more than a headache.

"What is all this about?" asked angrily one of the Knights who had come for escort duty. "We were supposed to bring Captain Amaury back, so where is he?"

"Obviously, he fled. And now if you want to make yourself useful, Brother Frederic, you may help us carry Lord Beringar back into town," Olivier said scathingly before Cadfael had had time to think of a caustic answer of his own.

Now that he was less worried for his friend, the monk's thoughts drifted to Amaury. What had happened was fairly obvious; Hugh probably did not expect any difficulties from a wounded man, and had been taken by surprise and knocked out. Amaury had then fled - but where? With his slashed face, he could not hope to go unnoticed, so it was likely he had not gone to Jerusalem. Yet, it was the only major town in a radius of at least fifty miles...

Nothing could be done about Amaury at the moment, though, and as everybody agreed - though some reluctantly - the only sensible thing to do was to head back to the Temple and report to Evrard.


	11. Getting Back Home

**Chapter 11**

Brother Commander Evrard was already waiting at the door of the Temple when the riders led by Olivier returned. He spared hardly a glance to Hugh, whom he had never met before, and his gaze swept over the group, obviously looking for Amaury. Not finding him, he raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"Well?" he asked suavely. "Where is my captain? Or did you commit yourself a little too far in your lies, Olivier, and cannot sustain them any longer?"

"I am not lying!" Olivier snapped back.

The young man was usually soft-spoken and well-mannered, respectful of his elders; but he had had a trying day, and it was actually much to his credit that he had _only _snapped. As for Cadfael himself he hardly could manage to remain in his saddle, and Hugh was not in a much better state. Though his head wound was not serious, the injury had been sufficient to keep the deputy Sheriff unconscious for at least half an hour, and he probably had quite a headache. A good night's sleep was what they both needed, Cadfael decided. And Olivier too, thinking of it.

"Where is Amaury, then?" Evrard asked again.

"He escaped," Hugh informed him crossly. But his anger was probably directed at himself for dropping his guard and letting his prisoner get away.

"And you are?" the commander enquired.

"Hugh Beringar of Maesbury," Hugh introduced himself tiredly.

"Oh, yes," Evrard murmured. "The... ardent young man sent by King Stephen."

Hugh raised an eyebrow but did not comment. He was not really in a position to do so, being of much lower rank than Evrard, even invested in the King's authority as he was.

The Templar commander did not seem to have expected an answer, and he transferred his attention back to Cadfael's son. "You leave me in a bit of a quandary, Olivier," he said, though he sounded more amused than bothered. "You obviously were involved in Amaury and his men's disappearance, but I have no proof as to what might be the truth in this affair. And since Amaury is not here, we cannot even settle that with trial by combat. So what can we do, hmm?"

"I have a suggestion," the young man replied stiffly.

"How impressive," Evrard murmured. "Well, speak up then. I can hardly wait. The anticipation is killing me."

"There is one way to prove my assertions," Olivier explained, his voice steady but his hawkish eyes blazing. "Let's do as Imrahim said, and bring Tahir to him. When he surrenders Amaury's men to us, you'll see we spoke the truth."

Evrard appeared to consider the suggestion for a moment, silently. Respectfully, everybody else kept quiet in the meantime, until the Templar slowly nodded.

"I don't like it," he said curtly, "but it does not seem as though I have much choice in the matter. There is after all a slim chance you might have been telling the truth, and if that is so I cannot leave some of my men prisoners of the Saracens. Very well. We shall ride tomorrow, with Tahir, and we will see then. You three will stay here and benefit from the Temple's hospitality. You will also accompany us tomorrow. For your sake, I hope this Imrahim shows up and that this expedition does not turn out to be only a tremendous waste of time."

"Don't worry, it won't," Olivier said tightly.

Hugh, Cadfael and his son were swiftly escorted to a room - the austerity of which made it look more like a cell, truly - and left there for the night. Nobody seemed to be guarding the door, but Cadfael suspected it would not be easy to leave, should they try. This Evrard looked like a sly, wily and cunning fellow, and without any evidence of his three unexpected guests' innocence or guilt, he certainly would not let them out of his grasp. But truthfully, at the moment the monk could not have cared less. He was so tired his head was spinning, and he sat down wearily on one of the three straw mattress which were more or less the only commodities in the room.

"Well, what do you make of that?" Hugh sighed. He sounded almost as tired as Cadfael himself.

"I don't make anything of it," the old monk replied, already lying down, "but I hope Evrard is not planning on doing anything rash when Imrahim shows up."

"What do you mean?" Olivier asked briskly.

"I am not sure..." Cadfael said slowly, as he closed his eyes. "But Evrard is a strong man and a respected war leader. He has also been taught his whole life that the Saracens are his enemy - only a few days ago he was taking care of these uprisings in the north. He will probably see Imrahim and his men as a threat. Don't you think he might try to take advantage of the occasion and capture them?"

There was a silence, and for a moment Cadfael thought there would be no answer. But as he was falling into a deep slumber, he heard his son say very quietly, "He might..."

For perhaps the first time in decades, Cadfael slept through the whole night without waking up a single time. Being in a religious order, he knew the Templars kept some of the usual offices, but he did not awake for any of them. However, he still felt far from rested when, much too early for his taste, somebody pounded at the door, and entered soon after. Hardly awake, Cadfael blinked at the newcomer, rising wearily to his feet.

"What is it?" Olivier asked brusquely.

Obviously he was not a morning person, and it appeared he had not had enough sleep, either; but that did not seem to deter the intruder, whom Cadfael soon recognized as Alan, the guard they had spoken to the day before.

"Commander Evrard says it's time to go," he informed them. "You are to get up and meet him in the courtyard."

Resigned, the three friends nodded and followed the guard out of the Temple. Cadfael hoped ardently he never had to step inside that building again. The Templar's hospitality left much to be desired, though he had known worse.

Evrard was indeed in the courtyard, with about thirty Knights in full gear; he was not taking any risks. As he approached the Templar commander, Cadfael had a better look at him. Though he had not gone to bed before Cadfael, Hugh and Olivier, and had probably got up much earlier, he looked unfairly fresh and rested.

The three friends' usual mounts were ready for them, and Cadfael felt a little guilty when he realized he had not taken care of his horse the past evening - not even spared it a thought, tired as he was. Thankfully, someone had seen to it, and the monk gently patted the mare's neck. Then he noticed Tahir was present as well, escorted by two Knights. His hands were bound, and the reins of his horse were tied to one of the Templars' saddle; obviously, Evrard had not bothered asking him for his word not to attempt an escape.

"Let's go!" the commander ordered when everybody was mounted and ready.

The small procession set off slowly and followed the now familiar way to Jehoshaphat's Gate. Olivier was up front, giving Evrard directions. Driven by his own curiosity, a trait that Brother Prior had often criticized, Cadfael steered his horse close to Tahir's. There was one question that had not been answered yet, and only the Saracen manservant knew the answer. The two Knights on escort duty gave the monk a dark look but did not protest. The Saracen hardly glanced at Cadfael, though he could not have failed to notice him approaching.

"What do you want?" he asked curtly.

"I have a question to ask," Cadfael said. "If you will allow me."

Obviously surprised at such humility from a Christian man, the Saracen looked at him a little longer, his charcoal-black eyes full of silent enquiries. Eventually, he shrugged.

"Many questions have been asked of me lately, little of which I was able to provide with an answer. You may ask; I do not promise to give you a response."

"That is fair enough," Cadfael acknowledged. "I was curious as to why you came back, after Thornbury died. Why not go back to your people? Your were his prisoner, I gather; why be so loyal to him that you would risk losing your life, with so little to gain, nothing to expect but servitude?"

For a long time Tahir remained silent, and after a while Cadfael thought he would not be given an answer; but then the Saracen spoke.

"That is none of your concern. However, I have nothing to hide, and since you asked, I will tell you my story. If you are willing to listen."

"I am," the monk said meekly.

"Very well. A long time ago, I was a soldier. I was very young then, hardly eighteen. My family rebelled against the law of the Christians, and we fought numerous Knights. We were outnumbered, though, and our rebellion was quickly quelled. In the final battle, which turned out to be my family's last and most bitter defeat, I ended up fighting against a Christian Knight. We fought for a long time; he was a great warrior, I am not ashamed to admit it. Eventually, he was stronger than me, and he defeated me. This scar is a constant reminder of my weakness."

Tahir showed to Cadfael a mark he had already noticed the first time he had seen him in chains, a nasty-looking, thick scar that started at the base of his neck and continued round his throat then down his collarbone.

"By all rights, I should have died," the Saracen continued. "but the battle was over then, and instead of leaving me to my fate, my foe saved my life, thus humiliating me more deeply than I had ever been before. He bound my wound and took care of me until I was better. This man's name was..."

"Antony of Thornbury," Cadfael said quietly.

"Indeed." Tahir gave him a quick, bittersweet smile. "He said I was his prisoner until my family paid a ransom for me, and he asked me my name. I refused to tell him what it was. I was already humiliated beyond words, but having my family buy my freedom back would have made it far worse, when I had been so unworthy of my name. Then Thornbury said that if my family did not buy me back, he would have to keep me as a servant. I think he was only trying to frighten me, but at the time I did not see it like that. However, he had beaten me in a fair fight, and then he had saved me; my life was twice his. I had to repay this debt before I could honorably take my freedom back."

"You were in a difficult situation," Cadfael murmured, unsure what to say.

"It was not easy," Tahir acknowledged. "I had been raised as a nobleman. Being relegated to the rank of servant, no matter the reason, was not easy. But Allah gave me the strength to go on."

"But what of it, after Thornbury was dead?" Cadfael insisted.

Tahir inhaled deeply. "My master was tactless enough to die before I was able to repay my debt. The very least I could do was to make sure his murderer was suitably punished; but if I had fled, I would certainly have been accused of committing the deed, and the true culprit would never have been found out. Coming back and doing my best to ensure the truth was revealed was the only thing I could do."

Cadfael nodded slowly. He could understand Tahir's situation. It was a quiet, discreet form of honour, one that would not be seen, admired or sung by minstrels, but perhaps all the more respectable. The Saracen had chosen the hardest path, and even if he was not fully aware of the consequences at the time, he had been faithful to that choice all along. That, if nothing else, deserved Cadfael's esteem.

"Well, now the truth is about to be revealed," the monk said. "You will be free."

"Not completely," Tahir replied quietly. "If the truth is uncovered, that is only thanks to you and your friends, not me. I still feel indebted. I know Thornbury has a son. I do not know what happened to the child, but if he or his mother ever needed help, I shall provide it. Please tell them that."

"I will, if I get the occasion," Cadfael promised.

Tahir turned his head away, making it clear he did not wish to speak anymore, and Cadfael respected his wishes, steering his horse to the left. The Saracen's last comment brought his mind back to Ayah, and he wondered what would become of her. What did Olivier intend to do? And what of the child, torn between two cultures at war? He decided he would need to speak with his son about that - Olivier was better suited than most to understand Gawain's situation - but now was not the moment.

By then, the party had almost reached the place of the rendezvous, and Evrard raised an imperious hand to stop his men, before shouting an order. Cadfael did not hear what it was - and anyway, he suspected the order had been given in French or some other, incomprehensible language - but he saw the Templars shift a little in their saddles and check their swords were within easy reach. Evrard was getting ready in case there was trouble, Cadfael realized - unless he was getting ready to create trouble himself.

Remembering the words he had exchanged with his friends the previous night, the monk began to feel somewhat uneasy, wondering if what should be a simple exchange would turn into a full-fledged skirmish. He need not have troubled himself, however, for at that moment Imrahim's men appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. More than fifty riders, perhaps up to a hundred, now surrounded Evrard and his men. The odds were so obviously tilted in the Saracens' favour that even the Templar Commander of Jerusalem would not dare attack; and Cadfael knew Imrahim would not attack, either. It was strange that he should so trust a man he had met but twice, yet there it was. Relieved, he urged his mare forward, eager to witness what would happen next.

Escorted by four riders, Imrahim detached himself from the bulk of his small army, and made his way to Evrard. Cadfael saw the Commander tense when Imrahim came close enough for his ravaged face to be visible. In plain daylight, his scars were more hideous than ever. Evrard straightened up in his saddle and crossed his arms in an open act of defiance, showing that he had no fear. Cadfael fervently hoped that the man's arrogance would not lead to disaster.

Imrahim came to a stop, hardly two yards separating him from the Templar Commander, and Cadfael reflected the two men could not have been any more different. One dark-haired with ardent, warm brown eyes, the other fair-haired, his eyes cold and blue; one a disfigured Saracen, the other a handsome Christian. Yet, both had the same stance of controlled pride, the same assurance that marked them as leaders of men.

"I see you have brought our brother back to us," Imrahim said, breaking the heavy silence.

"And _I_ don't see any trace of my men," Evrard answered stiffly, with no little amount of resentment. Gone was the faint amusement he had displayed until now.

A smile twisted Imrahim's lips, which made for a rather scary sight. From where he was, Cadfael could see Evrard's mouth quirk in distaste.

"They're both proud and stubborn," Hugh murmured on Cadfael's left.

"Evrard is outnumbered, and Imrahim's honour won't allow him to attack," the monk replied absent-mindedly. He guessed, more than he saw the amusement shine in his friend's eyes.

"When did you become such a shrewd judge of war-leaders?" Hugh asked teasingly.

"I have always been one," Cadfael shot back without losing countenance. "Did you notice only now?"

"Yes. How careless of me," his friend replied dryly.

"Shhh," Olivier hissed in front of them.

His warning was unneeded; both Evrard and Imrahim were much too focused on each other to pay attention to anything else, short of an earthquake. The Saracen leader raised an arm, and a moment later the six missing Templars were herded in sight of Evrard, whose eyes narrowed until they were mere glowing slits. He glanced quickly at Olivier, clearly unhappy that the young man's information had proven true. Under the circumstances, however, he did not have the upper hand, and the initiative was Imrahim's.

"Let Tahir go," the Saracen said. "When he is with my men, yours will be freed."

"And how do I know that?" Evrard sneered, deliberately insulting. He was a brave man, or a fool, or both, to dare to speak thus when Imrahim's men could slaughter him on a whim of their leader. But then, Cadfael had often found that there was little difference between bravery and foolishness, if any at all.

But Imrahim let the insult slide, disregarding it in such a way that it was insulting in itself, making it clear he cared little for Evrard's pettiness. "You have my word, Lord Evrard," he simply said, "that and the fact that, if I wanted you dead, I could order it at any moment."

To Cadfael's surprised, Evrard suddenly laughed. It was a low, bitter chuckle, but a laugh nonetheless. The monk shook his head briefly. In spite of what he had told Hugh, he did not know what to make of Evrard, though he knew it was not someone whose company he enjoyed particularly, if only because of his behaviour with Olivier. But naturally, he was not acquainted with the man well enough to lay any judgment on him.

"I will yield to your terms," the Templar said, "but remember, should you decide to break your word, that we are Christian Knights and will fight and die as such."

"I never doubted that," Imrahim answered, and a flicker of irony in his dark eyes made Cadfael wonder whether that was intended as a subtle jibe.

Evrard gave a brief order, and Tahir was freed. After a fleeting hesitation, as if he did not know what to do of his freedom now that he had it, after all these years, the manservant heeled his horse on, back to his people. He quickly disappeared in the midst of the Saracen riders, many of whom kept their faces veiled. Imrahim waited for a moment, making it clear he would free his own prisoners when he decided so and not an instant before. Perhaps he hoped to see Evrard ask, but Cadfael knew better than that, even having known the Commander for only a few hours. And indeed, the Templar did not so much as twitch, silently daring Imrahim to break his word.

After a little while, Imrahim gave a curt nod, as though acknowledging the Templar's stubbornness, and the six Knights were freed. They approached meekly, looking sheepishly at their leader, who gave them such an icy glare that, even though it was not directed at him, Cadfael felt a shiver run up his spine.

"Back in line," Evrard hissed in a low voice, his anger all the more frightening as it was so tightly reigned in. The six Knights would probably be given quite an earful, if they suffered no worse fate, but Evrard would not make an exhibition of himself in public.

"I believe this is the end of our transaction," Imrahim said.

"So it is," Evrard acknowledged.

They stared at each other for a moment, and after a fashion Cadfael understood that Imrahim was waiting for the Templars to leave first. It was a subtle form of humiliation, to make them beat a retreat even when there had been no battle fought, but Evrard was shrewd enough to pick it up, and the monk saw his muscles taut in his attempt not to show his rage. Yet, the insult was a compliment in itself, since it inferred the other part was clever enough to understand it. No doubt Evrard had caught on that as well, but it did little to appease him. He abruptly pulled on the reins, steering his horse to the left, and turned away, defiantly showing his back to Imrahim without a single look over his shoulder. Everybody followed, and when Cadfael risked a glance backwards, the Saracens had disappeared as surely as if they had never been there.

The way back was silent, partly due to Evrard's thunderous mood, and Cadfael was relieved when they finally arrived. The Templars dismounted quickly and began to tend to their horses, and Evrard came to Cadfael, Olivier and Hugh.

"It seems you were telling the truth, in the end, Olivier," he said, sounding as though the words chafed his lips.

He would need some time to get over it. Cadfael considered recommending him to drink lime tea, to calm his nerves, then on second thought decided it wiser not to.

"I am not a liar, sir," Olivier replied softly.

"No," Evrard granted grimly, surprising Cadfael at the concession. "You are not. These six will be dealt with. I don't suppose you have any reason to stay, now."

His words were dismissive, yet Cadfael thought he caught a certain longing in his eyes, as though he secretly hoped Olivier would ask to stay longer. But whatever had happened between those two, it must have created too wide a rift, for Cadfael's son merely nodded, warily. An almost inaudible sigh escaped Evrard's lips, and he turned abruptly away, after bestowing Cadfael and Hugh with the barest nod.

"We just need to get our bags from the Hospital of St. John," Cadfael said, "and we can be on our way. Why don't you meet us at David's Gate at noon, Olivier?"

"Of course," the young man agreed. "I will fetch my own belongings and help Ayah get ready."

He disappeared inside the Temple.

"I had forgotten about Ayah," Hugh admitted, as he and Cadfael walked in the now familiar streets of Jerusalem.

"Not me," Cadfael replied grimly. "I have been thinking about her ever since Olivier told us she was with him. What does he intend to do with her?"

Beringar looked somewhat puzzled. "Well, what else could he do? Olivier is an exceedingly honourable young man. He will care for her..."

"That's not what I meant," the monk answered with a frown. "Of course he would not leave her to her own devices. But what kind of life would she have in England?"

"Ah..." Hugh tilted his head, considering. "Yes, I see what you mean. But it's up to her and Olivier."

"I know," Cadfael mumbled. Of course it was none of his business, but he felt concern for Ayah, who would always be treated as an inferior in England, and for Gawain, who would fit nowhere. And most of all, for his son. Knowing him, Olivier would not rest until Thornbury's land were passed on to the lad; and that would never happen, not when the child's mother was a Saracen, even if she had been converted - and definitely not without proof of a proper wedding. No, bringing Ayah and Gawain to England would do no good, and Cadfael was determined to convince his son of that.

He and Hugh stopped only briefly at the Hospital, just long enough to gather their belongings. Cadfael bid Blaise farewell, but cut the goodbyes as short as he could. He knew he would never come back, never see his friend again, and that was the last thing he wanted to dwell on at the moment. Blaise promised that, should he ever return to England, he would stop by at Shrewsbury, but Cadfael doubted very much he would ever leave the Holy Land; he was too well ensnared there.

Olivier, Ayah and her son were waiting as agreed at David's Gate. The young woman smiled at Cadfael and Hugh, apologized humbly for fleeing without warning back in Arsur, and thanked them for solving the mystery of her husband's death. A moment later, the five of them were on their way back to England.

Cadfael waited to the very last moment before raising the issue of Ayah's fate. He did not plan it ahead, but subconsciously shirked the confrontation, all too aware that his son would not like it. But on the morning of their departure, an hour before their ship was to cast off its mooring ropes, he realized he could not delay any longer and had to broach the subject now, or be forever silent.

"Olivier..." he began, then hesitated, unsure how to express his feelings on the matter. "What are your intentions regarding Ayah?"

The young woman was present, but kept silent as she did most of the time. During the whole voyage from Jerusalem to Arsur, she had hardly spoken a few words, letting Olivier interact in her name.

Olivier looked at the monk, some amount of resentment showing in the way he pursed his lips. He was on the defensive, which meant he was going to justify himself. That in itself indicated that he had doubt of his own, whether or not he would acknowledge them, even to himself.

"I intend to bring her back with me to England," he informed his father curtly. "I believe I owe that to Antony, at the very least."

"That you want to care for her is much to your credit," Cadfael probed him warily, "but are you sure that bringing her back to England is the wisest course of action?"

Olivier's hawkish eyes darkened more and more as he listened to the monk. "Of course it is. Where else could they go?"

"Tahir said he felt indebted to Thornbury, and that he would tend to his wife and son's needs," Cadfael reminded him, having related his discussion with the Saracen manservant to his companions some time ago.

"I shall not leave Ayah and Gawain in the care of a complete stranger," Olivier retorted scathingly. "Besides, they must come to England. How else could Gawain reclaim his rightful inheritance?"

That was what Cadfael had feared. Perhaps it was time for some bluntness, to make the unpleasant reality of life more apparent to the young man.

"Gawain will never be allowed to inherit the Thornbury estate, and you know it."

"With my help, he will," Olivier said stubbornly.

"He won't," Cadfael said relentlessly. "Why are you so bent on bringing him to England?"

Until then, Olivier had avoided Cadfael's eyes, but at that point he stared back at him, anger and bitterness showing. "You ask why?" he said, his voice level and dangerously soft. "I will tell you why. I was raised here, in the Holy Land, without a father, without even any heritage of my father's culture. I don't even know the man's name! Not that I would want to know. He abandoned me. I will not allow the same thing to happen to Gawain."

Cadfael felt the blood draw from his face, leaving him ghastly pale, struggling to catch his breath. The blow had been all the more harsh for being unexpected, and it hurt to think that Olivier, unaware of his father's identity, must have been completely sincere in his outburst. It hurt more, because it was not meant to.

Hugh had listened to the discussion without interfering, probably feeling that it was best left to Cadfael's care, but he knew his friend well enough to notice his reaction and, shooting the monk a worried glance, he stepped in.

"Now, Cadfael's arguments are sound, Olivier, perhaps you should consider..."

"You stay out of this, Beringar!" Olivier snapped. "I know perfectly well it would embarrass your king, should Gawain inherit the lands and come to Maud's side. Don't think I can't second-guess your schemes!"

He realized what he had said out of anger at the moment the words left his lips, and he paled, while Hugh's features became stony. Olivier sighed and brought a hand to his forehead. "Accept my apology," he said stiffly. "That was uncalled for, Lord Beringar."

Hugh stared at him for a moment, then tilted his head towards Cadfael. "It is not me you should apologize to, Olivier," he said quietly.

The young man glanced at the monk, and something that looked like remorse appeared on his face for a fleeting moment, but he pursed his lips and looked away.

The subject was not mentioned again, and Ayah and Gawain came on board with the three men.

After that, Cadfael did his best to avoid Olivier, and the young man made no effort to see him. It was not possible for them to remain completely apart in the limited space of the ship, but even when in the presence of each other they endeavoured to pretend they did not see one another. Hugh was distressed to see that Cadfael was obviously hurting, yet refused to confide what the matter was. Olivier was obviously angry because of the disagreement about Ayah's fate, but somehow Hugh suspected the problem went deeper insofar as Cadfael was concerned. He tried relentlessly to pry the answers out of his friend, with no result, and he dared not push too far, for fear the monk might withdraw completely if he did. In desperation, he tried to speak to Olivier and get him to go to Cadfael, but the young man stubbornly refused to take the first step. Yet, he too was worried about Cadfael, though he tried to feign the utmost disinterest. When he thought nobody was looking, Hugh caught him glancing at the monk in concern.

Under such circumstances, the trip was anything but pleasant, and it was a relief when the ship reached the port of Tunis, where it would restock the supplies. Everybody was glad for a chance to escape the heavy tensions for a moment, though Olivier went his own way and Cadfael and Hugh in the other direction, while Ayah chose to stay in her cabin.

The following morning found the ship leaving the coasts of the Holy Land behind, hardly a shadow on the horizon, then not there at all. Hugh began to walk on the deck, enjoying the fresh morning breeze. He was slowly getting used to seafaring, and was no longer sick. Well, not too much.

Olivier was the next to come up, and he looked around the deck in concern. Spotting Hugh, he strode to join him. The deputy Sheriff felt a little resentful, for he was certain Cadfael's low spirits had to do with Olivier, but he did his best to overcome that feeling and greeted the young man politely.

"Have you seen Ayah?" Olivier asked without preamble.

Hugh blinked. "No, not this morning, why?"

Olivier frowned in concern. "She is not in her cabin, and neither is Gawain. When did you last see her?"

"Hum... yesterday afternoon, I think. She can't be very far, anyway."

"I'll look for her."

And so Olivier did, searching thoroughly through the whole ship. Quickly enough, Hugh grew concerned as well, and helped him, but Ayah was nowhere to be found. When Cadfael finally emerged and was made aware of the situation, he looked just as puzzled as everybody else.

"I'll look again in her cabin," Olivier announced, though by then nobody expected Ayah to be found. What had become of her, however, remained a mystery.

Nonetheless, Olivier was not long, and when he came back on the deck he had a strange, pained expression. In his hand he held a slip of paper, which he handed wordlessly to Cadfael. Hugh peered over his friend's shoulder to read. The handwriting was unsteady, but legible.

Dear Olivier,

I can only tell you how grateful I am for your help. I know you will be angry, but I firmly believe my choice is the only sensible one.

Brother Cadfael is right, and I should have realized it sooner. I know how most Christians will look down upon a woman such as myself. It was nothing but a dream to take Gawain to England. I must protect him. I refuse for my son to be a pawn in political games.

I shall go to Tahir and place myself under his protection. I know he will not turn me down. Please do not come after me and make it any harder for the both of us.

Thank you again for your kindness. Please say goodbye to Lord Beringar and Brother Cadfael for me.

Ayah

Upon reading the letter, the three men remained silent for a moment, all equally astounded. Eventually, Hugh laughed softly.

"We argued about it and you two sulked for days over the issue, and all the while she had taken her own decision..."

"Why did she not tell me?" Olivier murmured, distraught and wounded.

"She probably feared you might try to stop her," Cadfael said, his voice rough after having been almost completely silent for nearly three days.

Olivier brought his hand to his forehead. "I only wanted the best for her and the child..."

"Did you?" Hugh asked sharply. "Are you certain a more personal issue was not at stake?"

Taken aback, Olivier stared at him, then slowly shook his head. "Perhaps. I don't know any longer. Whatever it may be, I beg you, Cadfael, to accept my apology. I should not have shouted when you were only trying to help. Perhaps I was angry. I thought I had come to terms with this... not knowing my father. Obviously, I had not."

"Quite understandable," Cadfael mumbled, looking away. He wore his guilt as a leaden weight.

In the end, it was Olivier's turn to laugh, although it was hollow and more disappointed than amused.

"What is it?" Hugh asked.

"Oh, nothing. I was just thinking about this voyage, and what it brought us."

Hugh's eyebrow crept closer to his hairline. "So?" he prompted.

"Nothing," Olivier replied, still laughing. "Absolutely nothing. What a total, complete waste..."

"Nothing?" Cadfael repeated.

Perhaps it was time he stopped feeling sorry for himself and wallowing in self-pity. Olivier was angry with him, quite rightly so. He deserved it. He would just have to live with it.

"Not nothing," he continued. "We brought a criminal to justice - though he fled, he will be captured sooner or later - and we saved an innocent's man life. Wasn't it worth it?"

The three men exchanged a glance.

"Well, perhaps," Olivier conceded.

"Never mind all that," Hugh said. "It was worth it if only for one reason."

"And what would that be?" Cadfael wanted to know.

Hugh grinned. "The satisfaction of getting back home."

* * *

**A/N : **And this is the end. Writing this story has been a bit of an adventure, and Cadfael fanfiction turned out to be a lot more fun to work on than expected.

I'd like to thank everybody who reviewed, and more particularly Rosemary for Remembrance and Greenfleaf's Daughter for their nice, long comments. Special thanks to Kezya, my beta-reader, who had done an incredible job, not only on this story but on a few other as well. I think I'm giving her a looot of work.

I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing.


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